The Last Dance
by KalenCaelli
Summary: A story of Leliana's final days in Denerim, and of how letting go is sometimes the hardest thing to do. Finished.
1. Aftermath

**Title:** Last Dance

**Rating**: M

**Canon:** Female Tabris/Leliana

**Disclaimers:** I do not own Dragon Age. Well I do, but the script belongs to Bioware. Anything that you don't recognize belongs to me. This story contains sexual scenes between consenting, same-gender adults. If that puts your pants in a wad, don't read it. There will be references to sexual abuse as it pertains to the two main characters – these chapters will always be labeled so you know when it is coming. Obviously, there are spoilers for the entire game in this story. Any and all song lyrics also belong to their respective writers. Angst Warning = high.

* * *

_**The Dance – Garth Brooks**_

_Looking back on the memory of  
__The dance we shared 'neath the stars above  
__For a moment all the world was right  
__How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye_

_And now I'm glad I didn't know  
__The way it all would end; the way it all would go  
__Our lives are better left to chance;  
__I could have missed the pain  
__But I'd have had to miss the dance_

_Holding you I held everything  
__For a moment wasn't I a king  
__But if I'd only known how the king would fall  
__Hey who's to say you know I might have changed it all_

_And now I'm glad I didn't know  
__The way it all would end; the way it all would go  
__Our lives are better left to chance;  
__I could have missed the pain  
__But I'd have had to miss the dance_

_Yes my life is better left to chance  
__I could have missed the pain;  
__But I'd have had to miss the dance_

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Prologue: The aftermath**

"Is she okay?"

"I am unsure. Physically, yes. She drinks, though not much. She eats when prompted. But she does not speak. And I have examined her from head to toe. She is not physically injured."

"Eating and drinking is good. Yet these things do not alleviate your concern. Why?"

"Because she will not speak – nothing. Not to me, not to the servants who attend her. Not even to Fynn, who has not left her side since well, when _she_ died."

"And what is a bard without her words? I wonder...what of the king? I know he has come by several times. Has he spoken to her?"

"He has tried, on several occasions. He does what he can when he is able."

"He is, as you know, incredibly busy – and quite unaccustomed to all of this. It has been incredibly hard on him too."

"They both loved her deeply. We all did. Alistair mourns in his own way. I can see it in his eyes. But he tries to remain strong. For her, especially."

"He is terrified of disappointing her – as odd as that sounds, given that she is...well, you know. He is trying to live up to her example, a near impossible task, I'm afraid. I hope he has not set the bar too high. You Fereldens are finicky about change. I worry he might have a revolt on his hands if he is not careful."

"I had heard...is it true that he ordered new housing to replace those awful Alienages? And that he has instituted new laws preventing discrimination against any race?"

"It is true."

"She would be beside herself to know that. And to hear that her family was granted land and title? Alistair is certainly making a name for himself. He will be a good king, if an unconventional one."

"He has proven himself shrewd in his dealings with the nobility and his interpretation of Ferelden law. So far, he has managed not to push too far, though just. His status as a Grey Warden protects him for the moment. He is still one of the heroes who defeated the Blight. But to answer your question, yes. She was right about Alistair. I'll admit, Wynne. I had my doubts. But he is proving an able king, if a bit broody."

"Can you blame him, Zevran? He will never admit it, but he loved her. He never stopped, even when it was clear her heart was with another."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

I open my eyes and you are not here. My heart breaks again.

I want for nothing more than to cry, but my tears are spent. The pain in my heart is so intense it feels like I am being ripped in two.

I whisper a prayer to Andraste, hoping again for the sweet relief of death, but it does not come.

A whisper of wind brushes against my neck – very much like the way your lips used to. I used to feel them, you know, in the still of night. It made me feel safe – protected.

_Loved._

They talk outside. I can hear them. Hushed whispers question my sanity. The servants are afraid to come in here. They think me mad. Isn't it funny the way things come full circle? They thought I was crazy then, too.

Wynne visits me daily – speaks with me. Tries to console me. She worries – the same way she used to worry about you.

I wish she would quit worrying. There is no use in caring for a soul that is already dead.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**I sing to you of Kallian **

**The Elf, the Warden, the Hero of Ferelden.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The words feel hollow, empty. I set the quill down. Fynn looks up at me, cocking his head in that ever-inquisitive way. I wonder sometimes if you provided instruction for the Mabari to protect me. If you did, know that he has listened well. He rarely leaves my side. Wynne has been forced to bring him his dinner. And only our friends does he allow close. Even at night he stands guard, protecting me...

...the way you used to.


	2. Goodbyes

**Chapter 1: Goodbyes**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**A hero of Ferelden, she saved our lands  
From the Blight and destruction at the Archdemon's hands.  
A hero, they call her; they sing her praise.  
But they do not know of all her ways.**

**Not just a Warden, but a woman and friend,**  
**A companion, and lover, until her tragic end.**  
**I sing to you her story untold,**  
**For I was there as it did unfold.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

They couldn't have been more different – an elf from Denerim's alienage and the bastard son of a king, but somehow they had formed a deep-rooted friendship borne out of the tragedy of Ostagar. Alistair was the friend Kallian could always rely on, the brother she had never had, and in the end, the only one she trusted fully to care for Leliana.

The gentle green eyes pleaded with blond Warden, her jaw set with steely determination. Alistair sighed in exasperation. He should have known that she would fight him on this – the damn woman was the most stubborn elf he had ever known. Not that he had known many. But still, it was bloody annoying to have his wishes disregarded. He was the King, for Andraste's sake! Surely that counted for something.

His heart heavy, Alistair regarded the other woman with a weary gaze. Her arms were crossed over her chest, posture stubborn and proud. Alistair sighed. It was damn near impossible to argue with her, even now.

"Won't you at least reconsider?" If only Eamon could see him now, whining like a petulant child. Alistair had never sounded less regal, but oddly enough, he didn't give a damn. He had never wanted Maric's throne in the first place. It had been her fault he had accepted the position. All she had to do was look at him with those impossibly green eyes and bat those long eyelashes and he... No! He was not going to let her do this.

"I'm the senior Grey Warden. This is _my_ duty." Now he was just sounding desperate.

"It is as much my duty as it is yours." Kallian countered smoothly. "Damn it, Alistair – I don't want to die. But you have to be king. You _have _to."

"Anora would do just fine. She's practically ruled the kingdom since Cailan took the throne!"

"She is no better than the rest, and you know that." Kallian's hand pressed lightly at his breastplate, over his heart, which began to race wildly at the touch. "In here," her voice caught, thick with emotion, "in your heart, you know. Don't do this. Don't leave Ferelden in her hands."

Maker – she didn't fight fair.

He wanted to argue more but the words failed him. Shoulders slumping in resignation, Alistair nodded miserably. He looked away, eyes drifting towards a patch of blood-spattered stone, trying desperately not to think of the friend he was effectively sentencing to death.

Kallian's eyelids fluttered closed for the briefest of moments. Then, in a rush of emotion, she flung her arms around the former Templar, hugging him fiercely.

"Please take care of Leliana," the elf whispered, a request spoken too softly to reach anyone's ears but his. "And tell my father...tell Shianni...that I love them."

Alistair closed his eyes, unable to speak lest he lose what remaining composure he had. Finally, Kallian's hold loosened. Alistair lifted his chin, meeting the elf's red-rimmed gaze with his own.

So many things left unsaid. He had thought they had all the time in the world. Now, at the end, he found himself unable to voice the one thing that truly mattered.

"Say hello to Duncan for me," Alistair's breath hitched, ignoring the tears that slid down his cheeks.

"I will." Kallian smiled weakly. She hesitated for a moment, and then rose up to her toes, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"Goodbye, Alistair."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Wynne's own eyes were suspiciously bright, watching as the elf backed away from her fellow Warden. Alistair's lower lip was trembling as Kallian turned, lifting her eyes to meet the mage's own.

The mage opened her arms, ignoring the grinding pain that motion caused her old bones. That she was still standing was nothing short of a miracle, but as long as the Maker allowed it, she would see this through. She owed the Grey Wardens – owed Kallian – that much.

Kallian rushed in, burying her face in the older woman's robes, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The mage closed her eyes, allowing her chin to rest lightly on the Warden's head. Though her reserves were near depleted, she called upon the Spirit, pleading with it to send what strength it could to her young charge.

The accompanying drain of energy nearly felled her. It was only through sheer force of will that Wynne remained on her feet. She reached out, gently grasping the elf's chin between her fingertips. "I am so proud of you." Using her free hand, she gripped her staff tightly, her knuckles turning white from the sheer effort of standing upright.

"I don't know if I can…" Uncertainty. "How am I supposed to leave…?" The voice trailed off, and Kallian buried her face against Wynne's shoulder, fingers digging tightly into the billowing sleeves.

"I will watch over them both, for as long as I am able." She promised solemnly. Wynne would not break this oath – for as long as the Spirit sustained her, she would remain here. Leliana would need her care, and Alistair as well.

The Archdemon let out an angry bellow. Kallian tensed beneath her, and Wynne bit back a curse at the lack of time to say her farewell. Reluctantly pulling back, she gently cupped the shorter woman's cheeks, lifting the Warden's gaze to meet her own.

"I am so proud of you, child." Thin lips pressed against the elf's forehead. After a moment, Kallian drew back, squaring her shoulders as she prepared to say one final goodbye.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just._

She felt nothing.

Leliana surveyed the scene before her as if she were a stranger. These couldn't be her companions, her dearest friends, with whom she'd traveled for over a year. That was not her lover, her soul mate, saying goodbye to Wynne. That was not the King of Ferelden weeping quietly in the background.

Raw panic seized her heart, her body beginning to tremble violently as Kallian stepped back from the mage, turning to face her. A brief glimmer of pain flickered across those bright jade eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.

The bard took a step backwards, shaking her head slightly, as if by keeping her distance this would all magically go away.

"Leliana…"

"No." Was that her voice, sounding so weak and desperate? Her vision blurred, a choked sob escaping her lips as the elf closed the space between them. "I can't…I need more time."

As if taunting her, the Archdemon released another angry scream, flailing on the ground like a serpent without its head.

"Kallian." Wynne's voice was low, urgent.

The elf gently and captured Leliana's chin in her hand, forcing the bard to meet her gaze. In that moment, Leliana's will crumbled, falling into those familiar arms. Arms that had held her so carefully when they made love. Arms that had defended her, sheltered her, protected her from foes real and imagined. Arms that she would feel no longer, that would grow stiff and cold in death, melting away until they were nothing but ash.

"I love you," Kallian whispered, brushing her lips across the bard's several times.

Leliana slid her fingers around to the back of the elf's head, fingers entwining in the sweaty locks as she deepened the kiss. Everything about this moment she committed to memory. The salty-sweet taste of her lover's lips. The feel of a warm tongue relentlessly exploring her mouth. The delicious friction between their bodies. The unrestrained passion. Kallian's hands slipped around her waist, sliding up her back, fingertips pressing lightly against her shoulder blades, their bodies pressing together more intimately.

She was uncertain how long the kiss lasted. It could have been mere seconds or it could have lasted hours. As the bard drew back, blinking rapidly against the despair that rapidly rising, she knew only one thing.

It would never be long enough.

"I will wait for you, I swear." Kallian pressed her forehead against Leliana's, green eyes meeting blue one final time.

"Not for long," Leliana promised, the words slipping from her mouth uncensored. Kallian's expression grew pained, but she did not argue. Instead, she brought their lips together in a final, lingering kiss filled with such ardor that it left the bard breathless.

And then the bard was pushed back, captured by Alistair's waiting arms with a cry of protest and betrayal. But her pleas fell upon deaf ears. Kallian lifted a gloved hand, cupping Leliana's cheek, calmly committing the bard's appearance to memory.

Then, just as abruptly, the Warden turned and raced for the Archdemon, grabbing a sword protruding from the chest of a fallen corpse. It was far too large for the Warden's hands and very unlike the twin daggers she usually employed in battle, but still the elf hefted it bravely, screaming so loudly at the dying Archdemon that one might have thought her possessed.

Leliana struggled against Alistair's grip, turning her head and searching his face desperately. "Please…" she begged. Alistair's eyes filled with remorse as he shook his head, grunting as the bard's fighting intensified.

Wynne cast a simple strength spell on the former Templar, his hold turning to iron. Leliana screamed at the Warden, and when he wouldn't waver, she turned on the mage, cursing her name until her voice went hoarse.

It wasn't until Kallian's blade found purchase in the Archdemon's head that Alistair's grip finally faltered. An ear-splitting scream caused man and beast alike to cower in fear, and Leliana clamped her hands over her ears as she ran. The very earth shook as a blinding light shot skyward, enveloping all on top of Fort Drakon within its terrifying power. Leliana raced the last few steps towards Kallian before the terrible burst of energy knocked her off her feet, sending her sliding backwards across the blood-slickened stones.

And then silence.

Leliana lifted her head off the rough stone, squinting to see through a cloud of dust. It took several minutes of searching before she finally spotted Kallian's still form. Clawing her way to her feet she scrambled to the elf's prostrate body, which had been flung back several meters from the Archdemon's corpse, the hands still tightly clenched around the hilt of the sword.

The bard searched frantically searched for a pulse – for any sign of life, really. Finding none, she gathered the Warden into her arms in a fierce hug, rocking back and forth, moaning softly. A river of tears poured down her cheeks, splashing onto Kallian's face.

They trailed down the fine contours of a cheekbone, coming to rest on a pair of lips that still bore the traces of a smile.

* * *

Alistair sits with me a short while today. His concerned gaze never leaves me as he gently tries to encourage me to talk. I do not look at him, for I fear that pained expression in his eyes will be my undoing.

I do not hate him or Wynne any more. How could I? They were only fulfilling your final request. A request that they keep me safe – keep me from flinging myself into harm's way.

Wynne grieves as I do. I can see it in her eyes. Did you know that she once had a child? Borne of the love between two mages, the child was whisked off to the Chantry before Wynne had recovered. She never saw the baby again – the Templars wouldn't even tell her whether it was a boy or a girl. Her lover was taken from her, deemed at fault for their terrible transgression, and locked away in Aeonar. Is love really such a crime?

I once asked her why, in the beginning, she had protested our relationship so fervently. Her eyes filled with sorrow as she told me there was no greater agony than losing one's beloved. I wondered at the time whether or not she was referring to her lover or her child – she would not say.

And Alistair – he loved you as I did. But where I still maintain the memories of our shared love, he is left with the daily reminder of your rejection.

I don't know which is worse.


	3. Circle of Trust

**Chapter 2: Circle of Trust  
**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Born of elven blood, she lived a simple life**  
**In a Denerim alienage filled with much strife.**  
**She dreamed of greatness, of adventures more**  
**When opportunity knocked upon her door.**

**The truth – on the day she was to be wed**  
**The son of an Arl tried to usurp her bed.**  
**Took her, her cousin, and her cousin's wife,**  
**An act that would cost the Arl's son his life.**

**For fight them she did**  
**for the right to live**  
**Free from his oppression and tyranny.**  
**She freed her family from the home of their enemy.**  
**However, too late  
****To spare her cousin an awful fate.**

**To avoid threat anew**  
**the Arl's son she slew.**  
**Hours later they came,**  
**And she took all the blame**  
**In order to protect her friends and family,**  
**Her home, the Alienage, and the Elder Tree.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana stared into the light of the candle, watching the tiny flame dance about like an Orlesian noblewoman. She cocked her head to the side, listening to the sounds of muted argument that permeated her tent from just outside.

"She is a spy," Morrigan's voice was low, but nonetheless cut through the air like a sharpened dagger. "We should leave her here before she has the opportunity to betray us. Better yet, we should kill her and eliminate the likelihood that she'll report to Loghain."

"Those mercenaries surprised her as much as they did us," Kallian responded impatiently. The bard could almost visualize the elf standing tall in defiance, arms crossed against her chest, eyes filled with a ruthless determination. "Besides, she's Orlesian. Do you honestly believe Loghain would use an Orlesian to spy on us?"

"How better to fool us by using the one person we would never suspect?" The apostate countered. "Can you be certain those mercenaries were not a clever ploy to gain our confidence? It is likely she informed them of our location ahead of time," Morrigan's continued coolly. "Did she not herself suggest that she knew a shortcut that would cut nearly a day off our journey to Redcliffe?"

"I can't really believe I'm saying this," Alistair cut in hesitantly, "but Morrigan does have a point. Wasn't it convenient that we just happened upon her in the same tavern as Loghain's men?"

"She did ask us to let those men run free, did she not?" The mage remarked snidely. "All the better to report our activities to our enemies? Perhaps to use them as messengers to set up an ambush?"

Alistair frowned at the apostate, blinking several times as he considered the possibility. "And her dream about the Maker…creepy. I mean...we all know the Maker doesn't come to us in dreams anymore."

Leliana's eyes closed for a long moment, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. Her lay sisters in the Chantry had thought her crazy also. They had ridiculed her, mocked her, even ostracized her for her beliefs. Even the Revered Mother had expressed her doubts, suggesting that perhaps the bard could better serve the Maker in other ways.

_I shouldn't have come. How could I expect anyone to understand my vision – to understand me?_Leliana sniffed, beginning to gather her things, scooping the few personal items she owned into a small, well-worn satchel. The bard bit her lower lip as she thought about the places she could go. Lothering was surely overrun, its inhabitants fleeing in all directions. She certainly couldn't return to Orlais. She hadn't the money for passage out of Ferelden.

That left Denerim. It had been a long time since she had visited the capital city. It had a large Chantry, if she remembered right. Leliana had met their Revered Mother once – a wizened woman named Agatha. She had seemed kind enough – though she had sighed conspicuously when she learned the bard was from Orlais.

And Marjolaine would never expect her to return to Denerim.

Leliana trembled as the memories rose unbidden. She touched a hand to her face, remembering the sting of Marjolaine's palm against her cheek. Not for the first time, the bard wished she had never seen those documents. She missed her life in Orlais and the intrigues of the royal court. She missed the festivals and the dancing. And the food – Ferelden food was terrible – all meat and stews. There were none of the delicate flavors and seasonings that catered to a more refined palate.

No, Marjolaine would never have expected her to return to Ferelden. She had hated this place, bemoaning the fact that it smelled like a wet dog. She'd thought the people crude and simple. She had hated the lack of fashions and even the capital, Denerim, lacked the architectural splendor of Val Royeaux. Not to mention it was crowded with peasants.

But even that fact would work to Leliana's advantage. It would be easy to get lost in the capital, with its winding, narrowed streets and numerous alleyways that would make it easy for her to slip away if pursued. And it had a port and active trade – she could easily stow aboard a ship and make her way to Antiva or even the Free Marches.

Leliana sighed quietly, pinching the candle's wick, extinguishing the flame. The bard cocked her head, listening to the last snatches of conversation from her darkened tent.

"… So let's assume she's a spy. And she's crazy, to boot," Kallian's whispered furtively. "How would you propose we kill her? Or should we just torture her until we get a confession?"

It was like a slap to the face. The bard's pulse began to race as the panic rose, the Warden's words echoing in her head. Her surroundings blurred, and she could feel the walls of her tent closing in, threatening to suffocate her under the weight of her past.

_Sign the confession, Leliana. _

Apparently, her judgment had not grown any better during her time in Lothering. Leliana exhaled deeply, her face grim as she slipped silently out of her tent and snuck away to the tree line. Her companions were still arguing when Leliana made her way unnoticed into the woods surrounding the site.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x **

Kallian glanced at the muted glow of candlelight in Leliana's tent. She allowed herself to imagine for a moment the expression of horror on the bard's face at the direction this conversation had taken. The thought was unsettling. Kallian let out an exasperated sigh, regarding Alistair pointedly. "Is that what you think or what the Templar thinks?" She crossed her arms in front of her body, pinning her Warden companion with a poignant glare.

Why she insisted on defending the bard to her other companions was beyond her own reason. After all, hadn't she harbored her own suspicions about Leliana's motives? True, her experience with the Chantry was limited to the few sisters who would deign to visit the alienage, but it was still enough to know that the Chantry often attracted those with darker impulses. Often enough, they had preyed on those who could not fight back.

Like the elves in the Alienage.

Part of her wondered if Morrigan was right. It had been convenient the way the bard had insinuated herself into their group. And she had managed to convince Kallian to free those men, even going so far as to place herself between them and the pointed end of the elf's daggers.

But was she any better? After all, Kallian's own path into the Wardens had been paved in blood. If Duncan hadn't conscripted her, her own fate at the end of a hangman's noose was all but assured.

But there had been something about the bard that gave her pause. Something she had recognized in those eyes that had stayed her hand against all better judgment.

Now, if she could only remember what it was. And why she was going so far out of her way to defend a bloody _shem._

"If I recall, your Majesty, you've harbored your own secrets," Kallian gave a mock bow, ignoring the scowl that quickly arose on Alistair's face. He had only recently confessed his parentage, and she wasn't soon going to let him live that one down. Not when teasing him was so much fun.

"And you Morrigan," She turned and regarded Morrigan with knowing eyes. "You really have no idea why Flemeth would send her only daughter on a suicidal mission against the Darkspawn?" The witch glowered, her eyes flashing angrily at the elf's insinuation.

"So let's assume she's a spy. And she's crazy, to boot," Kallian's voice dropped in pitch. "How would you propose we kill her? Or should we just torture her until we get a confession?"

A long hush fell over the trio. Alistair's expression was pinched, his eyes reflecting his own doubts over Kallian's suggestion. Morrigan's eyes flashed with approval, but only for a moment, before she scowled, her lower lip jutting out like a petulant child. "You jest," the mage said accusingly.

Kallian exhaled softly. "Of course I am joking." The elf was relieved that Sten, the tall, dour Qunari they had freed from a cage in Lothering, had decided to scout along the western perimeter of their camp. She could only imagine what he would have added to the conversation.

Kallian looked once more at Morrigan – she liked the mage, honestly. Morrigan had a cool practicality about her that the elf appreciated, not to mention an acerbic wit and just a hint of vanity that masked her inner insecurities. She wondered how much of that was her upbringing in the Wilds – Flemeth was hardly the mothering type.

Not like her own mother. The Warden quickly shied away from that line of thought and the dull ache those memories brought with them.

"She is not some innocent Chantry sister. She is a bard. I know it. Have you heard the tales of the Orlesian bards?" Alistair protested. "They are spies, and assassins, and..."

"And who better to take with us as we negotiate these treaties?" Kallian argued, her gaze flickering between her two companions. "Alistair, in case you've forgotten, you were the one who told me to bring her along. I told her to stay in Lothering and help the people there."

"But...I...yes, but that was before the mercenaries," Alistair sputtered nervously, his eyes darting to Leliana's tent, as if expecting the bard to emerge, daggers in hand.

"We've no proof that she called those mercenaries upon us. Look, Loghain is in Denerim. His men left Lothering two days ago. It will take them nearly a fortnight to report back to Loghain. Loghain has no idea we are even alive yet." Kallian's eyes flickered between Alistair and Morrigan. "He does not know we are alive, therefore he couldn't have sent her directly."

"Unless those men reported directly to the mercenaries."

Kallian sighed, facing Morrigan. "What would be the point of that?" Kallian urged the witch to see reason. "It would be far easier to slip poison in our stew one even than spend the gold hiring a troupe of half-skilled fighters."

"Thanks for that thought," Alistair replied dryly. "It's dried bread and hard cheese from now on."

"Remind me to set my tent upwind of yours for the foreseeable future," Morrigan snapped impatiently, her amber eyes clearly deliberating the elf's argument. She scowled, and Kallian smiled, recognizing that Morrigan see the wisdom in her words. "I suppose we will have to keep an eye on her, then. But if she starts spouting Chantry platitudes, I make no promises."

"Fair enough," Kallian agreed, glancing out of the corner of her eye to the now-dark tent. She nodded to her companions before she made her way towards where the bard slept. It had been a hollow victory to be sure, and she still had niggling doubts she would not acknowledge to the witch or to the Templar.

She needed answers – and it was high time Leliana provided them. Kallian knelt in front of the tent, noting with a frown that there was a distinct activity inside. The bard usually had several candles burning – the better for her to write with and scribe her tales, or so she had said.

"Leliana?" Kallian questioned, frowning as she pulled back the entry flap, revealing an empty tent.

"Andraste's hairy ass!" Kallian yelled, pushing to her feet and pinning the others with a dirty look. "She's gone!"

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana knelt by a small stream, pausing briefly to fill her canteen with water. She had been running for nearly a candlemark, judging by her best estimates. She glanced at the position and location of the stars, noting with some satisfaction that she was still on a southeasterly course, moving along a path she knew would eventually take her towards Denerim, if in a roundabout fashion.

The others would follow her for a while. Then practicality would reign and they would be forced to turn their attention to the Redcliffe. The rumors about the attacks on the village were too important to ignore, and with Alistair's ties to the Arl, timing would be of the essence. Still, the bard left nothing to chance. To help aid her escape, Leliana had not moved in a straight line, moving at times south and other times east, covering her tracks as best as she could.

This stream would do well to hide her trail, Leliana reasoned with a grimace, though she dreaded the idea of traipsing through the frigid water at this time of year. She was about to take the plunge when the sound of moving underbrush caused her to spin around, short bow in hand, ready to face her assailant.

Kallian was perched on the back of her Mabari, Fynn, her fists balled tightly in his fur. Her eyes narrowed at the swiftness at which Leliana had drawn her bow. Anger and betrayal crossed her features, and she slowly dismounted from Fynn's back, her gaze never leaving the tip of the arrow aimed directly at her heart.

"Is it true?" Kallian asked, her voice low, dangerous. The tips of her delicately pointed ears twitched in anger. "Do you plan on betraying us to Loghain? To sell us out to the highest bidder? Maybe you'll take the purse and buy yourself land and title?"

Leliana kept her bowstring taut, following Kallian's form with the arrow. She did not speak – anything she could say would only make the situation worse. Perhaps Kallian was right to be angry – in similar circumstances she might have believed the same. But Leliana could not shake the Warden's earlier words. She had been ready to order the bard tortured –_ tortured! _– just to prove her duplicity. Leliana could not let that happen.

Kallian followed the tip of an arrow up a pair of well-muscled arms to Leliana's face. The bard's demeanor was impassive, almost detached, if she could call it that, the lips stretched tightly across her pained features. Kallian frowned, biting her lower lip. There was something eerily familiar about the bard's appearance – something she had seen before, a long time ago.

_Take me home, Cousin._

The revelation nearly sent her reeling.

The elf closed her eyes, the memory of Shianni's bruised and bloody face forcing its way into her mind. She shook away the memories, banishing them to the darkest recesses of her consciousness. An unconscious shiver made its way through her body, the Warden bracing her hand on Fynn's back for support, earning a low whine from the Mabari. Finally, when she had regained control, she opened her eyes.

The blue eyes blinked in uncertainty, the tip of the arrow dropping for a brief second. Of course, the second Kallian began to move it lifted again, the bard's expression hardening.

The Warden lifted her arms in surrender. "If you wanted to leave, you only needed to ask." The elf prayed her own intuition was right and the bard wouldn't release the bowstring. Of course, if she was wrong – Kallian clamped down on that notion. She really had no desire to be turned into a pincushion. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a large, half-sunken boulder, and decided that if this was going to turn into a long conversation, she might as well be comfortable.

"Like you would allow me to leave if you thought I was going to report to Teyrn Loghain?" Leliana's aim followed the Warden, her eyes narrowing in anger. "Do you really think I'm that naïve?"

"No." Kallian replied honestly, stepping unflinchingly into the river's frigid waters, taking a seat on the edge of the boulder. "But I also do not believe you're a spy. If you worked for Loghain, you would have headed east along the main road. It would have been much faster path to Denerim."

"And why would you think I wanted to go to Denerim?" A pair of auburn eyebrows threatened to climb off a forehead.

"Because you're running from something." It was a guess, but an accurate one, given the way that the bard's eyes narrowed and her finger tensed on the bowstring. Kallian's lips quirked as she tried to estimate how much time she had before she was skewered by the arrow. Not much, the Warden judged, given the way that Leliana's shoulders trembled slightly with each breath.

This had to end, and quickly, before someone got hurt. Kallian decided on brutal honesty. Kallian rose to her feet slowly, keeping a close watch on Leliana's trigger finger, praying that it didn't release. "Look, whatever you're running from, it will be safer with a group, no?"

She took a cautious step towards the bard. "The Blight _is_ what matters. Somewhere out there is an Archdemon, and if there is going to be any hope at all of defeating it we need to work together."

"The Blight is what matters," Kallian repeated, ever conscious of Leliana's stance. "And if we are ever going to defeat the Blight – if we are going to have a chance at saving Ferelden – we have to put aside our differences, our pasts – and focus on the greater good."

The bard took a step back, her right arm shaking from the pressure of keeping the bowstring taut. Kallian's words – they echoed her very sentiments – the reason she had left the cloister at Lothering to join this ragtag band of adventurers in their quest. But she dare not lower her defenses. No matter what, they would not take her again. She would not allow herself to be tortured. Once was far more than she could bear.

Kallian studied the bowstring, well aware that Leliana's strength would not hold out forever. The elf cursed inwardly, wishing she had at least thought to bring a shield with her. As it was, she'd left her dagger by the campfire when she'd called Fynn, ordering him to find Leliana and then hopping on his back without another word.

She studied Leliana's expression again. She had seen fear often enough while growing up in the Denerim alienage. But this went beyond simple apprehension.

_Take me home._

Kallian froze. She studied Leliana intently, trying to see past the fact she was human, trying to see the woman behind the haunted expression.

_I killed them all. Like dogs._

"Relax your bow for a moment." Her voice wavered slightly, fixing her gaze upon the bard. "I am not here to hurt you. If I move, you will still be able to shoot me before I draw my dagger from my boot." Not that she really had a dagger, but the bard didn't need to know that. Kallian forced herself to smile, relief flooding through her body as Leliana slowly lowered the bow, her arm relaxing as she examined the Warden with an uncertain expression.

"If you do not mean to hurt me, why then did you suggest to the others to torture me for information?" Leliana glared at the Warden in distaste.

"I was being sarcastic." She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm sure you're familiar with the term, no? Being a bard and all?" At Leliana's snort, she continued dryly. "Besides, you did not stay to listen to the full conversation."

"I heard enough," Leliana retorted angrily. "You all think I am crazy."

Kallian sighed softly. "I do not know what to think," she admitted truthfully, the very admission throwing Leliana. If Kallian meant to hurt her, to get close, the most practical thing to do would be to lie. To pretend to believe her, in order to slip underneath one's guard.

"Look," the elf said quietly. "I do not pretend to understand the teachings of the Chantry. My people have been oppressed far too long by its rules and regulations for me to believe that the Maker really cares about us." Leliana's shoulders fell, and Kallian hurriedly continued. "But Andraste was a hero to my people. And I believe she represents the Maker's will, in its purest form. So maybe he does care. Because if he hadn't brought Andraste to my people, we might have never known freedom in the first place."

Leliana regarded Kallian dubiously. "You don't think I am crazy?"

Kallian gave Leliana a small smile. "If you were sane, would you have joined us on this foolish quest?" She smiled as Leliana's lips curled up in a minute smile before becoming guarded.

"I did not lead those mercenaries to you." The bard whispered truthfully.

"I know." Kallian said. At Leliana's suspicious expression, she continued. "You were surprised. I could see it in your eyes. Also, if you had hired the mercenaries, it makes more sense that you would have killed their leader before he could give you away."

"I could have worked through an agent." The irony was not lost on the bard.

"But you didn't." Kallian rose quickly to her feet, and in a moment the bard had again drawn her bow taut, instinct rather than reason guiding her actions.

The elf's eyes flashed angrily at the hastily drawn weapon, meeting Leliana's gaze with darkly. Kallian took one step forward, and then another, until the point of Leliana's arrow was centered over her chest, so close it nearly touched.

"You are free to go Leliana," Kallian said softly. "I will not stop you. You can return to the Chantry, or you can travel with us and help us defeat the Blight."

The breath hitched in the bard's throat, which was dry as dust. She wanted so desperately to believe Kallian's words – to believe she had finally found a place where she belonged.

"The others don't trust me," she murmured hesitantly. "They think that I am a spy."

"Are you?" Kallian's bluntness surprised her. Leliana's head jerked up sharply, and the bard nearly gasped at the piercing green eyes focused on hers.

"No," Leliana said finally. "I am not a spy."

"If you travel with us, Leliana," Kallian continued, "Then there has to be some level of trust. I'm going to believe your story, unless otherwise proven."

"Why did you become a Grey Warden?" The words left Leliana's mouth before she could censor them, and the expression of anger that flashed over Kallian's features made her take a step back, lifting her hands for the blow she was almost certain to follow.

But it never came. Instead, Kallian regarded Leliana with a sad expression, shaking her head. "As you have your secrets, I also have mine. Whatever your reasons for leaving Orlais – they don't matter now. We need your help if we are going to beat the Archdemon. I need your help."

Leliana flushed at the almost sensual tone in Kallian's voice. It was almost hypnotic, in quality. She searched deep into Kallian's soul, looking for signs of deceit but finding none.

"Alright, I will help you defeat the Blight."

* * *

Wynne brings me food and sits with me while I pick at it enough to make it appear as though I've eaten. She is not fooled, and eventually I eat enough to satisfy her. She leaves me in peace, to my ballad, to which I now devote the majority of my time.

It is difficult, because the words, which have so long been my companions, will not come. And what is a bard without words? It was so easy to tell stories as we sat around the campfire, drinking Oghren's mead and predicting what our lives would be like after the Darkspawn were defeated.

Sometimes, you would steal glances at me, and I at you, especially early in our relationship. Later we abandoned all pretense of hiding our true feelings from the others, especially when it became clear that they were being driven to distraction by our sharing a tent.

I remember during those early days, just how tenuous our situation really was. We each had our own motives – our own reasons for joining the cause. But you were the string that bound us all together. Apart, we might have chosen to fight the Blight, or perhaps we would have fled. But you – you had a charisma about you that drew others in, a stubborn determination that one could not help but fall in love with.


	4. Revelations

**Chapter 3: Revelations**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**As a result of her crimes the gallows await,  
But the Grey Warden Duncan spared her this fate.  
Into their ranks he did conscript the girl,  
To Ostagar they went, banners unfurled.  
Two other recruits set out that night.  
Only one would survive to defeat the Blight.**

**But Ostagar fell, betrayed by Loghain.**  
**And to the Grey Wardens he shifted the blame.**  
**Of those who survived, there were only two.**  
**Rescued by Flemeth, they began anew.**  
**Joined by a daughter, two soon became three,**  
**And journey they did to Lothering.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The warmth of the dancing flames reflected off a pair of unseeing eyes, a warm backdrop against the chill night air. Across the fire, the bard scribbled against a sheet of vellum, no doubt committing to memory her thoughts on the day's adventures. Kallian was grateful for the bard's silence, her mood sour from an accumulation of sleepless nights and the pressing duty of being the leader of the Grey Wardens.

The fair-skinned elf recoiled slightly at the memories of the Archdemon, so vivid to her mind's eye, which haunted her sleep. Every time Kallian closed her eyes, it was the demon that she saw, its hollow eye sockets filled with a thick black mist. The dreams were so vivid, with the dragon towering over her, the moonlight reflecting off of its razor-sharp scales. She was armed with only her mother's dagger, its gore-coated hilt making the tool painfully awkward in her grip.

_Kill..._

The Archdemon was painfully clear, its voice causing her to drop to her knees in sheer agony. The last thing she remembered was the sensation of being crushed underneath the demon's foot. Alistair had told her the dreams would fade in time, but Kallian wasn't sure. She wasn't supposed to understand the Archdemon either, but its voice always called to her in sleep, taunting her, challenging her.

Thirty years. It seemed like a small eternity, though Kallian knew the truth better than most. In the days of Arlathen, her people lived for centuries, their bodies aging much slower and maintaining their delicate beauty until late in life. Those days had long since faded, and now most elves had a lifespan roughly equivalent to their human counterparts, or perhaps a little shorter, if one fell ill to any of the numerous diseases that persisted in the squalid living arrangements of the Alienage. Or if they happened to draw the ire of any of the noble houses.

Leliana watched her fireside companion out of the corner of one eye, never allowing her attentions to go detected by the sullen woman. Kallian had been an absolute nightmare to deal with since they'd departed Lothering, her mood diminishing with each step they took towards Redcliffe. It had taken them nearly a fortnight to make what should have been a week-long journey from Lothering to Redcliffe, due to the near steady stream of requests for aid along the road.

Apparently the news of the Darkspawn taking Ostagar had reached several of the smaller villages, resulting in a nearly constant flood of refugees along the major routes towards the larger cities. With the refugees came the highwaymen preying on the helpless individuals, hence the endless requests for assistance.

Of course, it didn't help that Alistair and Morrigan were constantly at each other's throats, or that Sten mercilessly challenged Kallian's authority and competence in front of the others. It was small wonder the elf's attitude had diminished steadily ever since she'd persuaded Leliana to remain with the group.

Tonight she shared watch with Kallian, and the young Warden's face was particularly sullen. So Leliana had kept her distance, trying to reconcile this woman with the one who had persuaded her so easily to remain. Had Kallian always been broody, or had circumstances forced her into this role?

"Must you continue that infernal racket?" Kallian's harsh tone rang out from across the campsite. "Bad enough that Alistair snores loud enough to draw every Darkspawn within earshot. Do you really have to add the sound of your quill scribbling to the mix?"

The comment stung, and the bard stared at the notes she'd written, fighting back a snappy retort.

Kallian watched Leliana's skin flush with anger, looking away from her companion guiltily. She sighed softly, realizing that she had no really good reason for taking her temper out on the Orlesian.

"Sorry." The apology was awkward, though genuine, and the two women regarded each other warily. With a sigh, Leliana rolled up her things, tucking the parchment neatly in her bag and sticking the quill in afterwards. The bard's hand went to the lambskin grip of her recurve bow, slipping seamlessly to her feet.

"I think I will patrol the perimeter once more." The bard's voice was wooden, and Kallian knew she had bruised the human's feelings. The Warden's hand shot out as the bard passed, halting her departure with a gentle grip. Leliana tensed at the strange fluttering sensation that simple act caused. The elf's fingers were surprisingly smooth, not at all callused like some of the other warriors she had known. The bard wondered idly if the rest of Kallian's body was like that, her cheeks flushing hotly at the images invoked by her own imagination.

Fortunately, Kallian did not seem to notice the way the bard's pulse jumped at the simple touch. "Please," Kallian apologized once more. "I am sorry."

The bard hesitated, torn between her desire to escape the Warden's touch and her inescapable desire to remain in Kallian's presence. She had not felt this way since Marjolaine – in fact, Leliana had thought that part of her heart had been destroyed forever. So why now, after all this time, were the first stirrings of passion beginning to take root?

Leliana slowly dropped to the log beside Kallian, watching the rolling flames of the campfire, pondering the answers to these questions.

"You joined the Wardens shortly before Ostagar, correct?" The words left Leliana's mouth before she could censor them, and she held her breath, waiting for the rebuke she was certain to follow. To her surprise, Kallian nodded mutely, tracing idle patterns in the dirt with the stick she had previously used to stoke the dying embers.

Alistair had unwittingly revealed much to Leliana about how he'd met the elf. The bard almost felt guilty at how easily she'd been able to coax the juicy tidbits of information from him – but he had grown up in the Chantry, and she had lived a much more worldly existence prior to becoming a cloistered sister. Of the Wardens and the joining ceremony he had been mum, refusing to substantiate any rumors on the matter. But Leliana had been able to learn a few interesting facts in their conversation. Namely, he had let slip that Duncan had been traveling in Denerim prior to returning to Ostagar with Kallian in tow.

Leliana knew from personal experience that the Alienage in Denerim was one of the largest in all of Ferelden. And she knew that any elf from Denerim would also hail from the Alienage. She had never been behind those walls – when she'd last been in Ferelden the gate leading to the Alienage had been protected by armed guard. And Leliana had been considerably distracted by her other pursuits to push the matter further.

The bard was undeniably curious about this woman's mysterious past. Alienages did not exist in Orlais in the same fashion as they did in Denerim. In Orlais elves who did not live and work for the noble houses or the royal court lived in well-kept, close-knit communities on the outskirts of town. Humans were not forbidden from travel in that area, nor were elves prohibited from venturing into the main city. In fact, many of the elves who worked as servants among the noble houses dressed more lavishly than some of the human peasants.

"Perhaps you could tell me more about your time as a minstrel in Orlais." The question snapped Leliana from her train of thought, her heart pounding at the deceptively benign nature of Kallian's inquiry. But the bard returned the Warden's feigned disinterest with a small, amused smile, allowing no sign of her discomfort to surface.

"I spent much of my time performing in taverns, though occasionally I was asked to entertain at parties or host small gatherings for children." Leliana chose each word with caution, making sure to speak no falsehoods. She had, in fact, met a large number of her targets in taverns, and sometimes at soirees hosted by one of the many noble houses.

Kallian's lips curled into a small, understanding smile. "I've heard rumors that in Orlais, minstrels often serve as spies." The elf's emerald eyes lifted, locking with the bard's. "Is that true?"

Leliana's eyes widened for the briefest of moments before the bard caught herself. _Foolish, foolish girl._ Marjolaine's voice taunted her. _Never let yourself be caught off guard.  
_  
"Where did you hear that?" Each word was carefully chosen. Kallian fought the urge to call the bard on her evasiveness. She knew Leliana was lying – she'd seen it in the nearly imperceptible flinch of the girl's shoulders, the way her fingertips curled in the tree trunk.

"I read it in a history book." It was the truth – Adaia had often taken her daughter to the Wonders of Thedas when she was younger, determined that her daughter would not grow up illiterate like so many other children in the Alienage.

Leliana eyes drifted towards the fire, a barely audible sigh escaping her lips. "Not all minstrels are spies – many are just singers and storytellers. But some...some are what we call bards."

"And are bards spies?" The persistence in the younger woman's tone was beginning to annoy her.

Leliana swallowed past the lump in her throat before nodding. "Bards do many things – they are skilled minstrels, it is true. But they are also fighters, mercenaries, assassins..."

She shifted on the log, trying to get comfortable. "Most work alone or in small groups for a patron. The nobles in Orlais...they are in a never-ending struggle for prestige, for land and title...of course they cannot do this openly. It would not be proper. So they employ bards..." a moment's hesitation, as Leliana traced an idle pattern in the dirt with the tip of her boot. "To do the work that they cannot."

"You seem to know a lot about these bards." a statement, not a question.

"I should, since I was one." Blue eyes met green without apology or remorse. "But you knew that already, otherwise you wouldn't have asked."

Kallian grunted in acknowledgement, and Leliana exhaled softly at the inevitable path this conversation was taking. She canted her head at the younger woman, a plan already forming in her mind to change the direction of the conversation.

"I...Have I ever told you I really like the way you wear your hair?"

"My...wait, what?" Kallian's head snapped up, her eyes filling with suspicion. The bard's light eyes shimmered with mischief in the light of the fire, the dancing flames highlighting every smooth contour and shadow of her delicate features. Her lips curled in a wry smirk that made the Warden's stomach flutter. Andraste's ass...what was it about this woman that both intrigued and infuriated her?

"My hair?" Kallian repeated, fighting her own instinct to flinch as Leliana reached up with and touched one of her braids. No human had ever touched her hair like that before – save Vaughan, before Shianni broke the jug of mead over his head. His touch had been rough, crude, and had made her skin crawl. The bard's touch was gentle, delicate, like a summer's breeze on a cloudless day.

"It's nice and it suits you," Leliana murmured thoughtfully, tracing a lone finger down the surface of one of those soft ebony braids. Kallian's hair was cropped short, pulled awkwardly back into many small segments by worn leather ties. The Orlesian wondered what it would be like if the elf allowed her hair to fall freely across her face. But no, she would not allow herself to go down that path again. No...not after Marjolaine. She had closed her heart off to such emotions long ago.

"Simple," the bard murmured, allowing her hand to fall back to her own knee when it became clear that Kallian was growing uncomfortable. "Not like the elaborate hairstyles we wore in Orlais. Those involved flowers and ribbons and jewels."

"It's just hair," Kallian's cheeks darkened under the bard's scrutiny, unaccustomed to such compliments. She had always regarded her features as average – being neither the prettiest nor the most popular girl among her peers in the Alienage. The bard was still talking, something about feathers and songbirds and Orlesian hairstyles. Kallian's eyes  
lifted up curiously, examining the bard's own closely cropped tendrils. Leliana's own hair was a beautiful crimson, but it was cut plainly, as if the bard wanted to avoid drawing attention to herself.

"Was your hair longer then?" Kallian asked, curious about the bard's wistful features. Leliana's faced clouded with emotion and her eyes drifted to the ground.

"I... Yes... But it was not very practical," the bard said softly, her hand drifting up unconsciously and touching the blunt ends. One of the first things the Chevaliers had done upon her capture was to shave her head. Orlesian noblewomen placed great value on one's own hair, and Leliana had always taken pride in what she viewed as her greatest asset.

"Did your mother ever braid your hair when you were younger?" Leliana countered quickly, trying to turn her thoughts away from the unpleasant memories.

A long pause, and then Kallian answered. "My mother died when I was twelve," the Warden said coolly, each word punctuating the air like the snap of a whip.

"I...I am so sorry." Leliana felt the small amount of rapport she'd built crumble as quickly as it had formed.

Kallian inhaled deeply, her fists clenching and unclenching several times as she tried to regain control of her temper. It was an honest mistake, the elf's inner voice chiding her. Leliana didn't know – she couldn't have known. Kallian exhaled, letting the angry memories roll off of her. "It is okay," the Warden tried to reassure the bard. "You  
didn't know."

The bard looked away, her own mind swimming with the memories of her own mother. There were precious few, most because she had died before Leliana had reached her fifth year. She looked over at Kallian, her eyes filled with empathy.

"My own mother died when I was just a child," Leliana said as she looked to edge of the campsite, almost wishing that some Darkspawn would emerge from the tree line. Anything to take her mind away from this. "I don't have many memories of my mother – I remember the smell of the flowers she used to crush into her drawers; they had a pretty floral scent. Andraste's grace, I believe it was called. Lady Cecelie used to give them to her. They were very rare in Orlais and highly prized among the noble houses."

"How did she die?" The Warden's voice was more subdued.

Leliana bit her lower lip, her mind drifting back to the unpleasant memories. "She was very sick," the bard began. "She had been for a long time. I am not quite sure what she had, only that it was beyond the healing of any mage." She stared into the distance. "My mother was very beautiful – but she grew paler and sickly and then...one day..."

_The nurses had shooed her outside to play, insisting that the singing and the dancing would disturb her mother, who had been bedridden for most of the past week. Leliana had argued, but at her mother's gentle insistence had made her way to the estate gardens, where she had picked a bouquet of flowers and had woven them into a fine wreath. Her mother loved pretty flowers – maybe she would let her pin the wreath into her hair. She was skipping back to the castle when she first saw the horses. Afraid, Leliana hid behind a tree, peering out with a single curious eye as the guards lifted a covered stretcher into the back of a wagon._

_It had never crossed her mind that the body could be anyone she knew. Not until she arrived back at the room she shared with her mother and saw the empty bed._

"I'm sorry," came Kallian's awkward whisper, and Leliana gave the Warden a guarded smile, blinking away the tears that usually accompanied those unpleasant memories.

"Lady Cecelie was good to me." And it was true... The Orlesian noblewoman had treated Leliana as her own daughter, training her in the ways of the Royal Court up until she too had become ill and Marjolaine had entered the fray. "And what of your own mother?"

Kallian's expression grew stony, and the bard regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. The topic of the elf's family had been off limits, as Leliana had long ago learned to steer clear of the sensitive topic.

"My mother was murdered." The air grew chilly despite the hatred burning in Kallian's angry eyes. "It was my eleventh birthday, and my mother took me as she did every year to a small bookstore a small distance from the main square..."

_Her mother stood in staunch defiance as the guards circled her, interposing herself between her only daughter and the humans, who were eying her with a peculiar expression. Kallian remembered seeing that look once on a stray cat as it stalked its unsuspecting prey._

One of the men grabbed her mother's arm, pulling the smaller woman close and grinding suggestively against the elf. Kallian remembered flinging herself against the man, though the next few moments passed in a hazy blur. There was a flash of steel, a sharp cry, and the next thing Kallian knew her mother was pushing her towards the Alienage, telling her to run.

_She did. But she never imagined that her mother wouldn't follow._

"The Arl of Denerim ordered the Alienage locked down while they investigated the deaths of two of his elite guards," the Warden whispered.

Leliana could not believe her ears. How could anyone believe it was right to treat another person that way? Her gaze met Kallian's, trying to place herself in the younger woman's shoes – but she could not. It was true she had lost her mother...but what happened to the Warden was just...cruel. Surely someone would have come to their defense. And she told Kallian just that.

Kallian laughed mirthlessly. "In defense of a few elves? You are not in Orlais. There was a riot in fact, and in the end, twenty two of my friends and neighbors died or were executed, including my aunt and uncle." Kallian stood abruptly, the shadows of the fire dancing angrily across her face. "I am happy for you, that you were so well cared by your guardians, but don't think for a moment my life has been anything like yours. If Alistair had the composure to lead us – people would follow him without question. They only follow me because he refuses to lead. Could you say the same of yourself?"

Kallian stood abruptly and strode away, leaving behind a speechless bard in her wake.

* * *

I thought often about your words that night. I decided, in the end, that you had a right to be upset. At the beginning, at least, everything you did was always judged against the backdrop of what you were. If you made a bad tactical decision – there were many who would have blamed it on the unusual manner in which the "elf" had handled things.

At first, I thought myself above such petty thinking – but I soon realized that I was not much different from the rest. After all, had I not dared to question your treatment of Loghain's men in the middle of a crowded tavern in Lothering? It shames me to admit it now, but even back then, some small part of me felt that I was superior in some aspect to you – not because you were an elf – but because I was a sister of the Chantry. You were a Warden – it was your duty to fight the Blight. But I had chosen to fight the Blight of my own free will. That, in my mind, made me superior.

I am glad that you exposed my own prejudices to me. It was a harsh lesson, to be sure, but one that much needed to happen.

Today I walk the grounds of the palace in Denerim. I think of the day you gave me the Andraste's grace. It was such a thoughtful gesture, and you blushed so very hard when I kissed you on your cheek afterwards. It is so pretty here in the Gardens. I pick a bouquet of roses and smell them. They remind me of your scent, crisp and fresh.

Wynne finds me here, and I know she is relieved. I think she believes it means I am healing.

She would be wrong, of course. There is no healing that can soothe a soul that has been rendered in two. There is only the sweet release of death.


	5. Interlude

**Chapter 4: Interlude**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**In the town of Lothering three soon became five.  
Though Loghain would soon learn the Wardens were alive.  
They journeyed to Redcliffe, though the road would be hard.  
An apostate, two Wardens, a Qunari, and a bard.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"What about that one?"

Kallian pursed her lips, studying the formation of tiny, twinkling lights with a thoughtful eye. Stargazing had been a favored pastime of hers – a habit of her mother's she had adopted at a young age. After her mother's death, Kallian would often spend hours on the rooftops, staring at all of the twinkling stars. She used to talk to her mother back then, venting her rage and frustration, and eventually her acceptance of the circumstances that had shaped her life. Now, it was a method of unwinding after a long day – a way to allow her imagination to run free of the duties and responsibilities that bogged it down.

Kallian studied the star pattern with some thoughtfulness before deciding on her answer. "It looks like a Dalish bow to me," the Warden said, a wry grin on her features, waiting for the expression of outrage that was sure to follow.

"A bow? That's the best you can come up with? Maker, you have no imagination!" The bard's nose wrinkled in distaste before rolling her eyes at her companion. Kallian couldn't help but laugh – the bard responded so predictably to her good-natured teasing, her lips coming together in a pouty frown that was absolutely adorable. Adorable…and remarkably alluring, Kallian realized, as the urge to lean over and sample those lips sent a delectable shiver up her spine.

It was disconcerting. Kallian shifted, all too aware of Leliana's close proximity. The duo was sprawled on their backs against a grassy outcropping, so close their elbows were touching. The bard had brought her lute – and though she had not played for Kallian yet, she would occasionally hum a soft tune. It had been her idea to come here – this hill was only a short distance from their campsite, and from this vantage point it was possible to see for miles in every direction. Kallian had brought with her only a small knapsack, filled with a blanket and a few other provisions for the short jaunt. For the past candlemark, the two had traded turns, finding patterns in the stars.

It was not the first time they had played this game. But it was different this time. The rules governing the once-easy interaction had changed as their relationship had developed from friendship into something different, something more.

Shianni would be appalled. Oh, she would eventually accepted that Kallian's best friend was a human female – an Orlesian bard, even. But that Kallian was beginning to have romantic notions towards that very bard?

It wasn't that Leliana was a woman – her cousin wouldn't have cared about that, though Kallian was sure that notion would cause her father to faint dead away on the spot. No...the problem was that the bard was a female _human_. Such a thing was just not done.

The friendship that had developed shortly after Lothering had deepened after their trip to Denerim. That trip, which had culminated in the death of Marjolaine, Leliana's former lover, had been hard on the bard. The bard had withdrawn and grown sullen. She quit eating properly, dropping what minimal reserves she did have. Her skin grew pale and dark circles were a constant feature under her eyes. Kallian had watched the transformation with growing despair, feeling helpless to stop it. Finally, she had switched late night duty with Alistair in order to offer her support to the bard. They two had continued that pattern over the next several nights, and eventually, Kallian made the switch permanent, giving Alistair the earlier night watch with Fynn, who seemed infinitely happier with the trade.

Kallian's eyes twinkled as she regarded the bard with an amused smile. "And what do you think it is, my dear bard?"

Leliana frowned, flopping back down on the soft grass, staring at the small star cluster for several minutes. "A princess," the bard decided, pointing out a few of the stars. "See? That's a tiara, and the beautiful flowing dress, and her shoes." Leliana sighed wistfully.  
"I miss Orlesian shoes..."

"You have shoes," Kallian pointed out, nodding to the practical leather boots that adorned the bard's feet.

"These are _boots_," Leliana argued hotly. "And they're hideous."

The Warden smothered a grin – the bard had spent hours at various markets trying to find a pair of boots for their recent trip to Haven. Unfortunately, Ferelden tastes in fashion being what they were, these were the only pair of boots that came close to meeting the bard's high standards, and Leliana had only purchased them with reluctance upon Kallian's firm insistence that she could not go barefoot in the Frostbacks. Even then, it had taken a great deal of persuasion, and a detailed description of the effects of frostbite from Morrigan to convince the bard.

Personally, the boots looked wonderful to Kallian – but what did she know? The elf turned over onto her belly, rummaging through her pack until her fingers closed around her intended target. She'd found them hidden among Old Tegrin's wares on their way to Haven, and had purchased them quietly, waiting for the appropriate moment to gift them to the bard.

"Close your eyes," Kallian looked back over her shoulder, where the bard was studying her with curiosity.

"Why?"

"Just do it," the elf ordered, regarding Leliana with a stern expression. The bard frowned, her lower lip jutting out in that ever-adorable pout, but she closed her eyes.

Kallian pulled out the shoes – made of fine blue satin and were decorated with sequins and other decorative stitching. The ties were delicate blue and pink ribbons, golden trim, and golden baubles in the shape of small puppies decorated the otherwise delicate ankle.

It was the most hideous pair of shoes she had ever seen.

Leliana would love them.

The Warden held the shoes up in front of Leliana, bracing herself for the onslaught. "Open your eyes."

Leliana's eyelids fluttered open, and the bard's hands flew up and covered her mouth in shock at the sight of the Orlesian accessory. She grabbed the shoes, hugging them to her chest tightly, burying her face into them.

"How... But... These are an exclusive Orlesian design," the bard gasped. "Where did you...? How did you...?" Leliana clamped her mouth shut, overwhelmed with emotion.

Kallian fought to suppress a smile, grateful that the gift had been well-received. The Warden reached out, brushing a tendril of Leliana's fiery red locks from her forehead. "Do you like it?"

"I... I can't... No one has ever gotten a present for me like this before," Leliana whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Not even Marjolaine…not without expecting something else in return."

Kallian winced, meeting the bard's gaze with a serious look. "No expectations, Leliana. Just a present – no strings attached."

The bard blinked rapidly, suddenly rising up and enveloping Kallian in a fierce hug that nearly squeezed the air from her lungs. The elf blushed furiously, the tips of her ears growing as red as her cheeks when the bard pressed her lips against her cheek. Warmth flooded Kallian's body at the kiss, a jolt of sensation shooting through all the right parts of her body.

"Thank you," Leliana whispered, leaning in and brushing her lips across Kallian's briefly. It was a kiss – a quick kiss – but a kiss nonetheless. Kallian's blush deepened.

"Thank you," Leliana whispered again, hugging the shoes to her chest.

* * *

I brush my fingertips over the shoes, fingering the delicate laces with a smile. It is one of my fondest memories of the time we shared together.

When we first met, I couldn't have imagined the journey we would take together. You were my best friend, my protector, and my love.

Some people search their whole lives for even one of these precious gifts. I am so fortunate that the Maker saw fit to bring you to me and give me all three. I meant what I told you – I am truly blessed to have been with you. I walked where the Maker led me and he has rewarded me for my faith. I found you.


	6. Decisions

**Chapter 5: Decisions  
**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**The homestead of Redcliffe was in dire straights.  
Arl Eamon lay sick, and the town's seeming fate  
Seemed certain that it would soon be alight  
From corpses beyond that came only at night.**

**That eve we fought, until the breaking day**  
**Saw the survival of both town and the Wardens Grey.**  
**But little did we know the source –**  
**An abomination – was behind the deadly force.**  
**Arl Eamon's son, an untrained mage,  
****Possessed by a demon of higher stage.**

**A difficult choice had to be made**  
**Arl Eamon's son to kill or to save.**  
**The Arlessa Isolde would soon pay the price**  
**To save her son would cost her her life.**

**Into the Fade, did our Mage go**  
**And against the demon proved a worthy foe.**  
**The arl's son was freed with his mother's death.**  
**But begged us with the last of her breath,**  
**To find the ashes of the Great Prophetess.**  
**Certain it would save Eamon from the Great Rest.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x  
**

"He is possessed by a demon. He needs to die." Sten's grave pronouncement echoed across the vast chamber. The Qunari's voice carried such a grim finality that only the most foolhardy would have dared to challenge him.

"Don't be a fool, we can still save the boy. The ritual will sever the bond between the boy and the demon." Morrigan replied testily, her ochre eyes flashing with irritation and annoyance at the Qunari.

"Blood magic is forbidden by the Chantry," Leliana answered heatedly, pinning the dark-haired apostate with a stern glare, which Morrigan returned with an ugly sneer. Leliana ignored the witch, instead turning her attention to Kallian and Alistair. "Connor is a boy. He is innocent."

"The boy made a deal with a demon," Sten interrupted. "He is hardly innocent."

Leliana scowled, her light blue eyes flashing in irritation before turning to Kallian. "The Arlessa was only trying to protect her son. We cannot do this." Her eyes searched Kallian's, pleading. For a moment the other woman held her gaze, but then she looked away, her eyes troubled.

"Then perhaps the _Arlessa_ should have considered that before she hired the blood mage to train her son," Morrigan's eyes flashed angrily at the bard.

Kallian sighed wearily, fighting back the rising tide of anger that surged through her veins. For the past three weeks, there had been nothing but constant infighting between the members of their party. First between Alistair and Morrigan, an unfair fight, to be true, but then Lothering happened. For some reason, Morrigan had taken an immediate dislike to Leliana, and Sten to Morrigan – though given the Qun's teachings on magic the latter was hardly a surprise. Still, three weeks of constant bickering had taken its toll.

"That's Arl Eamon's wife you are talking about," Alistair argued, stepping between the two women. "You can't possibly be serious..."

"'Tis a serious matter," the apostate replied testily. "And I would not jest about such things."

"We should not have made that deal with the mage," Sten argued. "We should have killed him, not set him free." The Qunari's violet eyes leveled on Kallian's smaller form with reproof.

"We can't kill the Arlessa," Alistair argued. "It's just not…not right." The former Templar frowned, his brown eyes troubled. "Still…Connor is an abomination."

"He is a child," Leliana voice rose.

"Enough!" All eyes turned to Kallian, whose eyes had narrowed into angry slits, her fists clenching so hard her fingernails drew blood. Leliana's sharp gaze leveled on the Warden, her mouth clamping immediately at the fury in Kallian's eyes. _She's been on her feet for two days straight. How much more can one person bear? _Even after the battle of Redcliffe was over and the others rested, Kallian had been up with Bann Teagan, discussing tactics and strategies for beating Loghain and his men.

"I need some time to think," Kallian continued, pinning Jowan with a steely stare. "Will the boy keep?"

Jowan's dark eyes were troubled, his eyes darting warily between Sten, Alistair, and Kallian. Leliana could hardly blame him – Sten wanted to kill him outright, and Alistair had been throwing murderous looks towards the maleficar since they'd arrived at the castle. "I can hold the demon at bay for a short while. It is difficult though... The demon is strong."

"Can you do it long enough for us make it to the Circle Tower?" Kallian crossed her arms over her chest, pinning the mage with a stern glare.

Jowan pursed his lips together, his red-rimmed eyes regarding the elf with regret. "I don't know," he replied, his voice filled with uncertainty. "Maybe for a day or two at most."

The Warden closed her eyes, and Leliana could see the struggle on the woman's face. Leliana's stomach sank. _She wouldn't possibly,_ her mind screamed in protest. _She can't..._

Kallian rubbed her eyes tiredly, regarding the Arlessa with a heavy heart. Isolde had remained silent, this entire time, her hands wringing as she waited to hear of her son's fate.

"Are you sure about this?" Kallian asked softly, her eyes searching the older woman's for another choice, another solution. Isolde lifted her head, her darker eyes meeting the elf's.

"If there is no other solution, then yes. I will not have my son harmed," the Arlessa spoke with a resigned sigh.

"So be it." Kallian's sounded so much older than her twenty years. "Perform the ritual. Morrigan. You will do it. Send that demon back to the Fade."

"What?" Alistair and Leliana's voices called out in protest. Alistair looked stricken, his eyes filled with disbelief and betrayal. Leliana stared at Kallian, dumbfounded, unable to believe that the elf would not only sanction the use of blood magic, but that she would knowingly deprive Connor of a mother.

"This is not right," Leliana approached Kallian, meeting the Warden's angry glare with one of her own. "You can't do this. It's wrong."

Kallian ignored the bard for a moment, focusing her attention on the Templar. "Alistair, I believe Arl Eamon is a good man," the Warden said softly. "And I don't believe he'd put the lives of everyone in Redcliffe over his family."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Alistair spat out angrily. "There's another way. The Circle Tower..."

"...is in disarray." Kallian cut Alistair off. She had not expected his support in the matter – had circumstances been reversed, Kallian was sure she would feel much the same way. But he was too close to the issue to see reason.

_I am trying to do the right thing, Alistair. Please believe me when I say I don't want this. _Kallian eyes searched the Templar's for any sign of understanding, though she found none. "You heard the rumors, Alistair. The Templars have requested the permission to invoke the Right of Annulment. You yourself told me that meant the Circle is in grave danger."

"Well yes, I did, but..." Alistair stuttered.

"They're not sending anyone, Alistair," Kallian's voice rose an octave, unable to contain her frustration. "By the time we finish clearing up that mess, everyone in the village could be dead! Is that what you want?"

Alistair looked stricken, his eyes narrowing as he focused his attention on his fellow Warden. "This is the Arlessa we are talking about. How do you think Arl Eamon is going to feel when he finds out you had his wife killed?"

"Probably the same I feel about having it done," Kallian snapped back, turning dismissively from the blond-haired Warden and leveling her gaze on the timid Jowan. "Do it."

Alistair glared at Kallian in disgust, storming out of the room without another word.

"You are making a grave error, _Warden_," Sten shook his head in disapproval.

"It is my decision to make, not yours." Kallian stood defiantly against the Qunari, her hand slipping slightly towards her dagger's sheath. "You chose that when you accepted my leadership."

The tension was thick as the two regarded each other warily, neither trusting the other nor willing to take the first blow. After a long, tense,standoff, Sten turned abruptly, leaving the room in silence.

Leliana glanced back and forth, unable to believe just how quickly the situation had degenerated. Jowan and Morrigan immediately began discussions; Jowan beginning to explain the ritual in depth to the witch, who eyes were flashing with haughty glee.

"May I please say goodbye to my husband and my child?" Isolde finally spoke, her eyes filled with an odd mixture of fear and resignation. Kallian nodded, meeting the Arlessa's gaze for only a brief moment before turning away. The blonde-haired Orlesian nodded gracefully before she left the room.

_This is not over_, Leliana thought angrily as she began to approach the Warden, intent on changing the younger woman's mind. As she approached, the fair-skinned elf lifted her hand, her eyes forbidding further discussion. Though bloodshot from lack of sleep – or unshed tears – Leliana was not sure, there was a stubborn determination in them that the bard recognized. Leliana's shoulders slumped in disappointment. Obviously, Kallian was not the person the bard had thought she was.

"How could you?" The bard's eyes filled with unshed tears. "How can you deprive Connor of his mother? Especially _you_," the bard raised a finger towards Kallian's face in accusation. "Is this some twisted plot for revenge?" The words escaped Leliana's lips before she could censor them, more effective than any blow. Kallian recoiled as if she'd been slapped, and Leliana pursed her lips in regret as the shock and betrayal was gradually replaced by an angry and dismissive expression.

"You are free to take your leave at any time," The Warden's voice was painfully stiff and formal, her eyes filling with tears that she would never allow the bard to see. "Now go," Kallian spoke through gritted teeth. "Before I have Morrigan escort you out."

Leliana did not want to leave. She wanted to stay and fight for Isolde's life. But what good would it do? Kallian's mind was made up, Leliana realized sadly. The Warden wouldn't change her mind about the matter. To push now would only further deepen the wedge between them – a wedge that had likely torn them asunder.

The only way she could stop this would be to talk to Isolde and convince the Arlessa that there was another way. Leliana swiped at the tears that burnt angry trails down her cheeks as she made her way from the room, refusing to acknowledge the triumphant gleam in Morrigan's eyes.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The bard bit her lip as she hesitated outside of the door to Isolde's chambers. The door itself was open, and Isolde was kneeling next to her son, Connor, who thrashed and moaned wildly on the smaller bed. Leliana watched the boy with some trepidation, wondering if the demon's possession was painful. Isolde was whispering quietly to Connor, private words between a mother and a son. Leliana paused, realizing her intrusion in such a private moment would be unwelcome. She turned, thinking to wait for the Arlessa in the hallway, when Isolde's voice called out quietly.

"Do you think he will remember all of the bad things?" The breath caught in her throat at Isolde's poignant question. Leliana slowly approached Isolde and Connor, kneeling down beside the Arlessa as she pressed a hand gently to his forehead, brushing away a stray lock of golden hair.

"I don't believe so," Leliana replied truthfully, studying the boy for a moment, noting the pale, ruddy features that obviously favored Eamon. Dark, purple circles marred the skin beneath the boy's eyes, his face twisting and contorting in unnatural poses as he twisted and jerked on the bed. A choked sob erupted from the Arlessa's throat, the older woman bending over the form of her helpless child. Leliana's hand rubbed soothing circles along the older woman's shoulder blades as she whispered prayers to the Maker.

"I was just trying to protect my son," Isolde managed between choked sobs.

"I know," Leliana whispered softly, leaning down to eye level with the Arlessa. "The Maker will protect Connor," she tried to reassure the Arlessa. "I am certain of it." Isolde reached out and clasped Leliana's forearm with a tight grip, her eyes desperately searching the bard's.

"You are a woman of faith." Isolde said. "Please. Protect my boy. Help me save him. Don't let them kill Connor."

"I won't," Leliana promised, knowing in her heart that even if it cost her life, she would hold true to her promise.

Isolde's shoulders slumped in relief at the knowledge her son was safe. "Thank you," Isolde murmured softly, brushing her lips across the bard's forehead. "Thank you," she said again, gliding seamlessly to her feet as she slipped out of the room, ready to face her fate.

Leliana watched the Arlessa leave, glancing once more to Connor as the boy moaned, his body arching of the bed. Sobbing, Leliana pressed her forehead against the sweat-soaked sheets, trying to make sense of the terrible situation. The prayer arose, unbidden, from the recesses of her mind.

"_O Maker, hear my cry:  
Guide me through the blackest nights  
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked  
Make me to rest in the warmest places._

_O Creator, see me kneel:  
For I walk only where You would bid me  
Stand only in places You have blessed  
Sing only the words You place in my throat_

_My Maker, know my heart  
Take from me a life of sorrow  
Lift me from a world of pain  
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_

_My Creator, judge me whole:  
Find me well within Your grace  
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed  
Tell me I have sung to Your approval_

_O Maker, hear my cry:  
Seat me by Your side in death  
Make me one within Your glory  
And let the world once more see Your favor_

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world  
And comfort is only Yours to give."_

From the lower levels of the castle, a terrible, bloodcurdling shriek cried out, causing the bard to bend forward as she expelled the contents of her last meal. Her shoulders shook as her body erupted into loud pitiful sobs against the injustice of it all.

On the bed, Connor's thrashing stopped, the boy falling listlessly against the sheets. Leliana pressed a hand against his forehead, reassuring herself that the boy was still breathing. It seemed Morrigan had succeeded – the boy was finally free from the throes of the demon.

A mother trying to protect her son – was that not right? Was that not just? Leliana's fingers clenched into the soft bedsheets, trying to reconcile the woman she had followed in Lothering to the monster who had deprived an eight-year-old boy of ever seeing his mother again.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Kallian stalked into her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her, though she knew Alistair was hot on her heels. She walked towards the fireplace that occupied most of the space along the far wall, snatching a flint and striker from the wooden mantelpiece and kneeling on the granite slab that occupied its base.

Behind her, the door slammed open, and Kallian rose abruptly, turning around to face Alistair as he stormed into the room, his angry stare boring into her own. "How could you do that? How could you just order Arl Eamon's wife killed? Do you even realize what you have done to him…to Connor?"

"Oh that is rich, Alistair," Kallian snapped angrily approaching her fellow Warden and jabbing a finger into his breastbone. "I didn't have a choice – it was either the Arlessa or the village, what would you have me do?"

"We should have gone to the Circle – we could have gotten help!" Alistair threw his hands up in exasperation.

"From the Templars, Alistair? What do you think they would have done, Alistair, once they realized your cousin was possessed by a demon? Serve him some cookies?" Kallian's eyes narrowed. "He was an abomination, Alistair. You know damn well what would have happened once the Templars were informed about this incident."

"You allied with a blood mage and an apostate to kill the Arlessa! And what about Connor? Do you even care what this is going to do to him? You…" Alistair jabbed a finger in Kallian's face. "_You_ ordered his mother killed!"

"She had a choice," Kallian batted Alistair's hand away. "Isolde did what she had to do to save her son." Kallian turned abruptly and closed her eyes, trying to curb the rapidly burning fuse that was her temper and stave off the angry tears that were threatening to boil over_._"Alistair… I had no choice."

"You had a choice," Alistair spat bitterly. "You made the wrong one."

_Enough._ Kallian spun around angrily, her ears twitching in indignation as she stalked towards the other Warden. "It is so easy for you, isn't it? Sit back and let someone else make the decision and then moan and complain when you don't like it." A hairsbreadth separated the two, as Kallian stood angrily on her tiptoes, her eyes a blazing inferno. "I didn't ask for this Alistair – I never did. You are the senior Warden, Alistair. Act like it."

Alistair's jaw dropped. "Bu…"

"No," Kallian leaned in closer. "I can't do this alone, Alistair. We need… we _must_…" Kallian's eyes searched his, pleading, "work together. I can't do this without you."

Alistair's jaw clamped shut, and Kallian could see that he was obviously weighing her words carefully.

But if she was expecting a response, she would be sorely disappointed. Alistair skulked away without further attempts at conversation, leaving Kallian alone with her grief.

Kallian stared at the heavy oak door for a long while, before she turned away, collapsing on the bed in her grief.

Had she made the right decision? If only she could be certain.

At least Connor was safe, and Arl Eamon's condition seemed to be stable, if not any better. Jowan was safely secured in the castle dungeon, his fate intertwined with the Arl's. Kallian had been relieved that the Bann had not asked for her advice on that matter – she wasn't sure her heart could take much more.

A sob forced its way past her throat, and the Warden curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down her face. A low, keening wail threatened to erupt from her throat, forcing the elf to bite her own tongue to keep the sound from traveling past her own ears.

* * *

I remember going to your quarters much later. I had intended to take my leave – to depart for Denerim. I did not believe I would ever be able to face you again, knowing who you were and what you had done.

You never answered my knocks, so I let myself into your room. You were curled up in a fetal ball, your voice hoarse from your screams of anguish. You had not even bothered to remove your blood-splattered armor.

When I saw you there, lying so helplessly in your grief, I was hopelessly ensnared. How foolish I was, to think I could just leave, forget about this life I had chosen.

That was the day I saw you not just as a leader, but as a woman so distraught over depriving a boy of his mother that it made her ill from grief.

We spent several more days in Redcliffe. The village was in dire need of repair and assistance was needed disposing of the fetid corpses that littered the ground. Nearly half the villagers had perished in the attacks from the castle, and in the following days I came to believe that your decision was the right one, however distasteful.

I think Alistair realized it too, though he was too proud to admit it. I do not believe he blamed you for Isolde's death. I think he blamed himself.

You remained bedridden for several days, though I frequently visited your bedside to ensure that your wounds were healing. At times, you turned and thrashed in your sleep, calming only when I climbed in beside you. Strange, really, how even back then you responded to my touch, long before we acknowledged our blossoming feelings.

I often wondered if you were aware of how I tended you in those days – if that was the reason you chose to stand by me when Marjolaine revealed the sordid details of my life before Ferelden.

It was many days before you awoke and told us that we would be traveling to the Circle Tower to speak to the Senior Enchanter about Eamon's illness. You made no mention of Isolde's death or of the days you spent in bed.

But I remember that your eyes met mine – and I could see something else. Something deeper behind your expression.

Gratitude.


	7. Confessions

Author's Note: This chapter contains a trigger alert.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Confessions**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**To the Circle Tower we made our way  
The doors were barred and the Templars held sway  
For the Rite of Annulment would soon be held  
****All mages in the Tower to be felled.**

**The Circle would fall to the detriment of all  
Until Kallian rose and heeded the call.**

**The doors barred tight she worked though the night**  
**Freeing the Circle from demons of might.**  
**Until we learned that the true threat was within**  
**From Uldred the blood mage and unpardonable sin.**

**Trapped once in the Fade and once nearly by Pride**  
**She freed the Circle from the terrors inside.**  
**Uldred she slew, First Enchanter she saved**  
**From those who practiced magic most depraved.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana wrung her hands anxiously as she followed Kallian's trail away from the campsite. They had settled along the shoreline of Lake Calenhad, their group considerably larger than when they had made their initial trip to the Circle. Along with First Enchanter Irving and few of the remaining mages – there weren't many left – came a contingent of twenty heavily-armed Templars – on Greagoir's orders – in case Connor had been repossessed. The elf had been less than thrilled at the compromise and had ordered the Templars to set up their tents far from the campsite.

Kallian and Alistair had argued furiously with the Knight-Commander over Connor's fate – Greagoir had been insistent that the boy be made Tranquil, something that the Warden deemed unnecessary, considering his possession had been a result of Jowan's interference. Leliana cringed as she remembered the heated debate, which had echoed down the winding corridors of the Tower. Greagoir had refused to acknowledge that the child could be redeemed, and had only given in to the elf's demands after she threatened to conscript the remaining Templars into the ranks of the Wardens. It had not gone over well with the Knight-Commander, though the bard was certain she saw Wynne smile at Kallian's stubborn refusal to back down.

Thus the Templars kept their distance from Kallian and the remainder of the party, though there was always one in sight of the few mages that had accompanied them. Two of the mages, Wynne and Irving, were talking quietly around the fire. Leliana was glad Wynne had decided to join them – she would bring some much needed experience, as well as a calming influence, to the group. Sten was pacing alone in the distance. The Qunari had been sullen and withdrawn ever since they'd interrogated the squirrelly-looking scavenger about his sword near the Spoiled Princess. She had seen Kallian talking to him earlier, their voices low. Leliana couldn't help but listen in, her lips quirking in a small smile as Kallian tried to assure the dour giant that they would find _Asala_.

Alistair had taken watch, though he seemed less interested in watching for Darkspawn than trying to engage their guests in a game of cards – something that seemed to be going much better for the Templars than for him. Morrigan had taken her leave far from the main camp, skulking into the forest as soon as they stopped for the evening. Leliana did not expect to see her again until the morning – she had been as morose as Kallian about the Templars' presence. Even Fynn had trotted off to do some much-needed hunting.

As for Kallian, well, the elf had disappeared some time ago and it was her trail that the bard was now following. Leliana was nervous; she had put off this conversation for far too long, but she was dreading facing her companion. Would Kallian use this opportunity to send her away? Truth be told, Leliana wasn't entirely sure. They had formed an uneasy truce after the events at Redcliffe – each unsure of what to make of the other, but neither quite willing to pull away.

Leliana made her way past a strand of tall grasses towards an inlet that offered isolation from prying ears. Kallian was sitting by the lake's edge, her legs outstretched on the lush foliage, her expression so open and vulnerable – very much unlike the battle-hardened warrior that Leliana had first met.

The bard hesitated. Kallian looked so lost, so alone, and Leliana remembered how she had felt much the same in Lothering's Chantry. Despite being welcomed into the fold by the Revered Mother, Leliana had remained very much the outsider. When word of her vision finally spread to the other initiates, they had ridiculed her, and as a result, the bard had retreated, cloaking herself in her solitude while she waited for the opportunity to leave.

It had been a very lonely time, up until the day that she first locked eyes with Kallian in the tavern. Something had passed between the two of them – something powerful – something that the bard was still struggling to understand herself. Leliana wasn't quite sure what to make of it. There was an easy familiarity that guided her interactions with the Warden – as if they had known each other forever. But such a thing could not be possible. Leliana had grown up in Orlais, and Kallian in the Denerim alienage. The bard was certain they had not met until that day in Lothering.

It was disquieting, and so Leliana had yet to broach the topic with the elf. Her feet continued to carry her towards the Grey Warden until she was standing beside Kallian. Leliana lowered her head, her gaze leveled on the hard-packed dirt, trying to gather her courage for the upcoming conversation. Their relationship had been so fragile since Redcliffe – Kallian had not quite forgiven her for her harsh words (words that she now regretted whole-heartedly, as much for their untruthfulness as their focused attempt to wound the other woman), and Leliana was concerned this might sever the last remaining ties between them.

"I lied to you, you know. About why I left Orlais." There, she had said it. If Kallian meant to confront her, to send her away, these words would have sealed her fate. Leliana's eyes drifted closed. This was not how she had meant to start this delicate conversation, and she cursed the nerves that sent her thoughts awry and made her heart pound erratically in her chest.

Silence.

Small beads of sweat began to form on the bard's forehead, and she chanced a look at the Warden, pursing her lips together at Kallian's stony expression. The Warden's reticence unnerved her more than her anger ever could. The silence lingered for several long, agonizing moments, before Kallian's harsh whisper cut through the night air with knife-like precision.

"Why?" Kallian's eyes lifted to Leliana's, her stare accusing. There was anger there, and more than a little betrayal.

"I..." Leliana looked away, fighting the urge to flee from the clearing, from _her_. "I didn't feel like talking about it then – what happened to me." That, at least was truth. The very thought of dredging up those old memories made her skin crawl…but she had to do it. She owed Kallian at least that much. "Maybe it will affect us," Leliana continued, the thought causing her heart to pound. "Maybe it will not. But you should know."

Kallian let out a deep sigh, falling backwards as she stared at the night sky. The Warden studied the stars for several long moments, analyzing her own thoughts. Anger, certainly, she was mad. The topic had come up several times in conversation – mostly brought up by the other companions, to be sure, but Leliana had not hesitated to answer with the same story each time the matter arose. Kallian pursed her lips, remembering the careful attentions of the bard after the death of Lady Isolde. Had that been nothing more than an elaborate hoax? A calculated ploy to gain her attentions and her trust?

"Is this a game to you?" The bile rose in Kallian's throat. "The manipulation? The lies? Just how much did Loghain pay you to betray us?"

Kallian's accusation was like a slap to the face, and the bard stumbled back a few steps, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I am not a spy," Leliana protested vehemently. "I did not lie to you about that. I did NOT! I came to Ferelden and the Chantry because…" She choked back a sob. "I… I… w-was being hunted… in Orlais." Tears began to roll down the bard's cheeks, and Leliana cupped a hand over her mouth, stifling a second sob, her body doubling over from the weight of past memories.

_Do you know why you are here, Leliana?_

It was _his _voice that echoed in her mind, haunting her thoughts and memories. Leliana whimpered, reaching for her hair, her fingers clenching the fiery tendrils. _My hair…why did they take my hair?_

Fighting back the grim memories, she stood abruptly. "I was framed," Leliana paced towards the water's edge, staring at the water as the crushing weight of her past settled on her soul. Shouldering that burden alone left her so very, very tired, and Leliana stared across the rippling surface of the water with a heavy heart. "I was betrayed by someone I knew and I thought I could trust," The night air was cool against her skin, and Leliana shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. She wondered what it would be like to step into the water, to disappear beneath its surface, never to emerge. "Marjolaine."

_Sign the confession, Leliana. _

The bard shook noticeably, drawing a frown from the Warden. Kallian's eyes narrowed perceptibly as she took in the heavy set of the bard's shoulders. Leliana's arms were wrapped tightly around her middle, cradling herself protectively against the violent shivers. Again, the dark memories rose forth unbidden.

If it was a lie, it was a well thought out one, and hardly necessary. The bard would have no reason to speak the truth unless she was forced to, and glancing around, Kallian could hardly imagine that there'd be cause for that. Which meant that this story was not a lie. And whatever demons that had haunted the bard's past had come home to roost.

Another sigh, as Kallian closed her eyes and willed herself to calm. Anger wouldn't help the situation. And Leliana, despite the subterfuge about her past, had proven herself a trustworthy ally. And a good friend.

The memories of Redcliffe still haunted her sleep, and when Kallian closed her eyes, she could still see Isolde's horror-stricken expression as the blood magic twisted and distorted her features. Kallian remembered standing there, feeling completely and utterly alone. She had forced herself to watch Isolde rise from the ground, lifted on invisible finger, refusing to look away even as tears of blood traced down the Arlessa's cheeks. And then the scream…

Kallian shuddered at the memories. She remembered watching Morrigan fall, her spirit leaving her body for the Fade. Kallian had refused to leave the witch's side until her eyelids fluttered again, informing her that the demon had fallen. She remembered her relief as Teagan as he ordered Jowan imprisoned. Finally, she wouldn't have to make a decision regarding another's fate. She barely remembered the journey to Connor's room, standing just outside the doorway as Teagan went to check on the boy. She couldn't bring herself to meet Leliana's accusing glare. Then there was the argument with Alistair.

Her recollection of what happened afterwards was hazy. She remembered, vaguely, crawling into bed. How long had she lain there, floating on a dim wave of pain? Kallian wasn't certain. Faces and voices from her past drifted in and out of her memories. At one point, Kallian could have sworn a pair of arms was wrapped around her body. But when she awoke, she was alone.

Kallian lifted her head, studying the bard. She knew now that it had been Leliana who'd cared for her. Eamon's elves had been more than willing to share that bit of information, along with updating Kallian on the happenings in and around Redcliffe.

The bard was shivering, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. With the moonlight reflecting off her hair, she looked almost like…

_Shianni…_

_Take me home, Cousin… Please, just take me home…_

Kallian grabbed her cloak, approaching the bard quietly. She reached up, settling the edges of the shroud across the bard's shoulders, and Leliana's fingers closed around the scratchy wool, memorizing its texture.

"I'm sorry," Leliana apologized between sniffles. "I didn't want to lie to you... It's just..."

"I know," Kallian said, wrapping an arm tentatively around the bard. Leliana leaned against the Warden, taking solace in the awkward embrace. After a moment, Kallian gestured towards the grassy knoll where she'd been sitting before. "Join me?"

The bard nodded, her eyes lifting hopefully as she followed Kallian towards the sloped hill. Kallian helped guide Leliana to the ground gracefully, and the bard closed her eyes, drawing on the strength of the elf's arm around her shoulder. It was strange, the way the Warden's presence made her feel safe. Safe… Leliana inhaled deeply. She could not remember the last time she felt safe. For years, she had accustomed herself to looking over her shoulder, praying that _she _would not be there.

_My pretty thing…_

"Marjolaine…" Leliana's eyes glazed over, remembering the blow that had appeared out of nowhere. _She was so angry with me for opening those documents. _"She was my mentor – my friend. She taught me the bardic arts – how to enchant with words and carry myself like a highborn or blend in as a servant, as needed. The skills I used to serve her, my bard master." Leliana sucked on her lower lip nervously, glancing at Kallian out of the corner of her eye. "I thought I was in love with her."

Kallian's eyes closed for a brief moment, her ears flickering slightly as she digested this information. "You...loved her?" The Warden was careful to keep her tone even, non-threatening. "You and Marjolaine were..."

"Lovers?" Leliana said tonelessly, bitterly. "Yes. We were lovers. It did not matter that she was the master and I, a mere apprentice. I loved her. And I thought that she loved me."

Kallian swallowed, trying to ignore the irrational stab of jealousy that shot through her chest. "So, was Marjolaine a bard too?"

"She claimed to have retired. She...had been married, once before. But that was a long time ago. To many she was just a rich widow, but to me, she was so much more," Leliana's eyes met Kallian's, eyes pleading for understanding. "I thought I knew her. My devotion to her blinded me to her less...noble attributes."

Leliana's eyes glazed over, as she regarded a nearby copse of bushes. Kallian frowned, pursing her lips at the bard's pallid skin. Fine beads of sweat were beginning to form on her forehead, and Kallian reached up without thought, brushing away a strand of sweat-soaked hair.

"There was a man I was sent to kill," Leliana continued, allowing herself for the first time in years to relive those terrible moments. "He had done her some great injustice in the past – Marjolaine wouldn't say what, and I didn't question her any further. I was to bring back everything he carried. I didn't know who he was. She gave me a name and a description. I hunted him down, and found the documents on his body." Leliana stared vacantly into the distance, her mind detaching from the burden of past memories.

"You opened them, didn't you?" Kallian's voice was barely a whisper.

"Curiosity has always been a weakness of mine," the bard said softly. "Something told me that I needed to know what was in those letters. And I did. Marjolaine had been selling all kinds of information about Orlais to other countries. It was treason."

"I had always assumed that Marjolaine worked in Orlais," Leliana continued, her voice wooden. "I was worried, as you can imagine. I...had been trained to keep my loyalties fluid, as a bard, but this was treason of the highest sort. If she had been caught, the Chevaliers would have..."

_The sting of a lash across her back, liquid fire coursing through her veins…_

"…I just couldn't let that happen." A pair of miserable blue eyes sought out Kallian's, pleading for understanding, for sympathy. "I couldn't."

_Sign the confession, Leliana._

"Because you loved her?" Kallian asked softly, liquid gaze meeting the bard's.

_Marjolaine, how could you do this to me?_

The bard nodded miserably. Kallian's jaw tightened, anger surging through her veins. How someone could betray someone they loved so thoroughly… Kallian's eyes followed the trail of tears that streaked flowed down the bard's cheeks, her chest tightening painfully at Leliana's forlorn expression.

"I tried to tell Marjolaine I feared for her, but she brushed aside my concern. She admitted her guilt but said it was in the past. The documents had to be destroyed, she said," Leliana's expression grew dark. "She was furious with me – she called me a traitor and accused me of trying to ruin her by opening her private correspondence."

_Marjolaine's palm came out of nowhere, impacting against her cheek and bringing tears to Leliana's eyes. The bard stumbled backwards, her ears ringing from the force of the blow. _

"_Please, Marjolaine, I'm sorry. Please…" Leliana sobbed as she leaned up against a wall, lifting a hand to shield her face from Marjolaine's wrath. Marjolaine had rarely struck her, and in the past, when she had lost control, she'd always apologized, always begged forgiveness, even though it had been within her rights as Leliana's master. _

_This time though, there had been no apology, only fury. Leliana whimpered as Marjolaine lashed out again, catching her just above her temple with the back of knuckles. One of her rings caught the bard across her lower face, splitting her lip. Leliana sobbed as she shirked away from the bardmaster, trying to protect her face from the noblewoman's wrath. _

"_You dare betray me with this?" Marjolaine lifted her hand once more, and Leliana sobbed, closing her eyes tightly in preparation for another strike. _

_But there was no blow. Instead, a hand cupped the younger woman's cheek, caressing it. Gentle fingers lifted Leliana's chin, and Marjolaine's lips captured her own. The kiss was bittersweet, filled with remorse and regret._

"_I am sorry, Leliana." The bardmaster's eyes showed true remorse. "But I wish you had trusted me."_

_And then she was gone._

"Did she hurt you?" Kallian's voice had a distinct chill, and Leliana looked away, touching her cheek absently.

"I was a fool," Leliana continued, her throat thick with emotion. "I had never believed Marjolaine would set it up so I appeared guilty. I kept believing in her, in us, up to the moment they showed me the documents, altered by her hand to make me look the traitor."

Leliana drew her knees close, pressing her forehead into the leggings as she struggled for control of tenuous emotions. She began to shake uncontrollably, reliving the awful horrors of her past.

…_The sting of a lash against her broken flesh, boring into her skin until she passed out from the pain…_

…_A white hot brand searing into her flesh, marking her treason for all eternity…_

_...The terrible, agonizing pain as the guards forced themselves upon her..._

Kallian's head snapped up sharply at Leliana's sharp cry. The bard rocked back and forth, sobbing inconsolably. Kallian felt utterly powerless, staring helplessly at her friend.

_I killed them. I killed them all._

Kallian turned her hands over, remembering the feel of Vaughan's life pumping against her fingertips. _So much blood. _

The Warden shook her head forcefully, banishing the memories. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out and tentatively touched the bard on the shoulder. When Leliana didn't jerk away, Kallian wrapped an arm around the bard, drawing her into a fierce hug.

"The Orlesian Guards – they captured me. Did terrible things to me to confess and make me reveal my conspirators," the bard's voice cracked. "They…" Leliana's voice cracked, shaking her head. "They forced me to…" A choked sob escaped her throat, and then another.

Kallian drew the bard close, hugging her tightly. After a moment's hesitation, Leliana's arms slowly snaked their way around the Warden, the bard burying her head into the elf's shoulder as she cried. Kallian rested her chin atop the bard's head, her own tears tracking silently down her cheeks.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, on the shores of Lake Calenhad, each of them mourning a past that could not be undone. The sun was just beginning to peek over the eastern horizon when Leliana slowly drew back, tired eyes hesitantly meeting Kallian's.

"Thank you for sharing this with me." Kallian cupped Leliana's cheek, and the bard couldn't help but wonder at the way the Warden's eyes glittered like emeralds in the rising sun.

"I wanted..." Leliana couldn't help but lean into the touch, her eyes meeting Kallian's hopefully. "You deserve to know the truth, after all you have done. I didn't want there to be any more secrets between us."

Leliana's breath hitched as Kallian's thumb brushed across her cheekbone. "I am glad you could trust me with this." the elf said earnestly.

"I…I feel safe with you," Leliana stammered, her cheeks turning a dark pink. "I…I know it's foolish. I mean we've only known each other for a month and…"

Kallian's fingers pressed against the bard's lips, silencing her. The Warden's lips quirked into a small smile, and for the first time in weeks, Leliana returned the grin.

* * *

Wynne sits with me again, making idle conversation. She tells me that Alistair has formed a council of the senior enchanters, whose purpose will be to run the Circle Tower. I could scarcely believe my ears when she delivered the news. She tells me that the Revered Mother threw a fit when she heard the news, challenging Alistair and refusing to remove her Templars from the Circle's grounds.

Wynne tells me that the Revered Mother nearly swallowed her tongue when Alistair threatened to have her removed from the post. Wynne is worried, I can tell. Alistair is making many changes in Ferelden – some that have been long overdue. But I think she worries that these changes will mean future challenges to Alistair's rule later.

I allow her to read a little of what I've written so far. Her eyes mist over and she's rendered speechless for several moments, after which she pats my hand and excuses herself.

I watch her leave, realizing that Wynne has been so busy taking care of me and wondering if she's ever taken time to mourn.


	8. Confrontation

Author's Note: There is a trigger alert for this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Confrontation**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**To Denerim we went to see Brother Genetivi,**  
**We found him missing, and though it was not easy,  
****We journeyed afar to the village of Haven  
****Where we encountered a cult most vile and brazen.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x  
**

A pair of worried green eyes stared across the campsite, focusing with trepidation on the slouched form that gazed listlessly at the flames. Leliana's arms were wrapped loosely around her own body, the blaze reflecting dully in her eyes. She had been like that since they had made camp, settling in for the night after another long march into the frigid foothills of the Frostbacks. But it was far from the first time the bard had retreated into herself. In the days – weeks, really – since they had encountered Marjolaine, Leliana had been reduced to a mere shell, burdened by the weight of the her memories.

Kallian turned away, fighting the frustration that was her constant companion. Ever since the bardmaster had sent mercenaries against them, Leliana had been reduced to a fragment of her former self. Where the nights around the campfire had been enjoyable and pleasant, filled with playful banter and innuendos, a dark cloud now hung over the group. The bard went about her tasks as she normally did, but without the liveliness in her step. The elf had tried to talk to her, to comfort her, but the bard avoided any attempts at deeper conversation. "_Please, not now_," the bard would say, retreating to the safety of her tent.

"Give it time," Wynne had counseled her on numerous occasions. But Kallian could see the lines of worry around the older mage's eyes. She was as concerned as the rest was about the bard's ability to continue on. Such inattentions could be dangerous, deadly even, and already there were whispers that perhaps Leliana should be left in Redcliffe to recover from her ordeal. That it was safer for the bard there, rather than being on the road, where such distractions could lead to disastrous consequences.

Whispers that Kallian had studiously managed to ignore, for now.

_I loved her…_

_Damn her_, Kallian let out a low hiss. She almost regretted her decision to go after Leliana's former lover. Though she had been left with little choice once that she-demon had sent mercenaries after them. It was a challenge she could not help but answer. The bard had not been nearly as understanding, the fight that ensued was legendary, threatening to shatter the tenuous bond that had reconnected the two women.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"_You have no right to do this." Leliana's voice dropped dangerously low, the bard's eyes blazing with indignation. Her was a mere hairsbreadth from the Warden's, so close that Kallian could see the ever-so-light dusting of freckles across her cheek. "This is not your fight," Leliana reiterated, her eyes narrowing to slits. _

"_She made it my fight when she sent mercenaries after us." Kallian's response was no less heated. "Against all of us, Leliana." Clearly, the bard had lost her mind. Couldn't see this was all a trap?_

"_Against me, Kallian." Leliana's eyes narrowed. "She sent those mercenaries after me."_

"_And what if it had been Wynne or Alistair?" Kallian cut her off. "Would you be so willing to let one of them walk into harm's way?"_

_Kallian was certain that the second Leliana stepped foot in Denerim Marjolaine's lackeys would swoop down upon her. And given the rumors that were now floating around about the fair-headed minstrel that traveled with the Wardens… Kallian shuddered. Loghain would not hesitate to react swiftly against any perceived Orlesian threat. _

"_And is it supposed to be safer if you come with me?" Leliana's skin paled in the dim lighting. She's afraid, Kallian realized. The bard continued. "Do you know what she will do when she realizes who you are…what you are? She'll turn you straight over to Loghain."_

"_She would be a fool to try," Kallian reached out, gently tracing a thumb over the bard's hand. "Loghain hates the Orlesians even more than he hates Grey Wardens."_

_Kallian had to tread carefully. Push Leliana too far, and she flee for sure. No, she couldn't force the bard to stay. She had to appeal to the bard's sense of self-preservation. Facing the bardmaster alone would be suicide. Marjolaine was obviously well connected, to hire mercenaries of such caliber. And she had taken refuge in the heart of Denerim, which meant she had standing among the high-born._

_The thought of Leliana walking into a trap – and it could be nothing else – made Kallian's guts churn with sick apprehension._

_Lifting her eyes, Kallian brought her gaze to Leliana's, silently begging the bard not to go._

"_Please, don't go."_

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Please._

A single word. That's all it took, really, to melt any resistance.

Leliana's eyelids fluttered closed. It had been a foolish plan, really. Sneaking into Denerim in the dark of night, under the guise of a master and servant? Kallian's plan had been foolhardy, reckless, even by the elf's standards. And it had nearly gotten them all killed. They'd walked headlong into a house filled with armed mercenaries, outnumbered three-to-one and had barely escaped with their lives.

And now, what was left, really? Marjolaine was dead. The friends knew everything now – all the details of her sordid past, the embarrassing details unearthed for all to see. Leliana could still remember the horror on the other's faces as Marjolaine gleefully recounted the endless chain of lives ruined by the former Chantry sister.

_You are not so different from me, Leliana. _

How could she ever look Kallian in the eye again? The bard could still remember the expression on the elf's face as the Marjolaine set her sights on the Warden, sharp eyes focusing on the elf like a hawk circling its prey.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"_Enough," Kallian snapped, halting Marjolaine mid-sentence as the Orlesian described (with great detail) one particular instance where Leliana had seduced the son of a Viscount. _

_The Warden wore an expression of unbridled fury, her eyes flickering towards the auburn-haired bard. The latter had been reduced to pathetic shivers, tears flowing freely down the pale cheeks. It pained her to see just how deeply affected Leliana still was by the sins of her past, and a righteous anger begin to build, deep within her stomach, her ears twitching angrily as she met the bardmaster's appraisal._

_Marjolaine's eyes shifted from Alistair, who she had been studying with great interest, to the elf, her dark eyes skimming up and down Kallian's form, her lip twitching with obvious disdain._

_Leliana's gasped, her eyes darting briefly towards Kallian before she could catch herself. Cursing inwardly, Leliana forced her focus back to Marjolaine, a quick study of the bardmaster's face alerting her to the fact that that blunder had not gone unnoticed._

_Marjolaine's expression shifted from disdain to amusement, her eyes softening into a look that could only be described as pity._

"_So you are the mysterious Warden that my men have told me about – the one who has enchanted my Leliana so." Predatory eyes shifted between the elf and her former __apprentice, a knowing smirk crossing her lips. "Leliana, I must admit I am surprised – she is hardly your usual fare. I would have suspected this tall, handsome man more your style."_

"_What is she talking about?" Alistair glanced between the bard and the Warden, confusion plainly evident._

_Marjolaine moved so quickly Kallian scarcely had time to draw breath before the tall Orelesian was beside her, tracing a finger across the elf's cheek. "So plain, so ordinary – not at all like the elves in Orlais." Kallian jerked away, her eyes shooting daggers at the taller woman, who continued to circle her like a predator. The amber eyes skimming up and down the Warden's body, making her feel vaguely dirty, as if she on display._

"_Tsk tsk," the bardmaster shook her head, grabbing Kallian's hand before the Warden could jerk away, examining the rough digits with disdain. "Dirt under the nails, the smell of sweat and leather…" Eyes darted to Leliana. "This is not you, my dear. Traipsing across the countryside, dressed like a boy, sleeping outside like an animal."_

_They're nothing but animals…_

_Vaughan's voice called out to Kallian, taunting her, and the elf's vision turned red. Spinning around, she lashed out at the bardmaster, her fist catching the taller woman on her chin with a satisfying crunch. Marjolaine screamed, and in that moment, chaos erupted. _

_Doors on either side of the room slammed open, as hidden fighters poured into the room from all sides. Kallian let out a curse, narrowly darting out of the way as a Qunari sword sailed over her head, nearly losing it as she spun around to face the much taller, and much better armed, opposition._

_It had been a trap. Outnumbered three to one, in close quarters, were odds that Kallian would have never wished for. Barking a few quick orders to the remainder of her companions, Kallian sidestepped another downward slash that would have split her helmet, not to mention the rest of her body, into two._

_Fortunately, the large sword embedded itself deeply into the wooden floor, and Kallian used her superior speed to dart in behind the Qunari mercenary, twin daggers biting deeply into the back of his legs, hamstringing her opponent. Sten's sword sailed overhead, removing the offender's head._

_Kallian grunted her thanks, quickly surveying the room. Alistair was facing off against one of two mages, his mouth moving rapidly as he sought to negate each spell thrown their direction. Morrigan was facing the other, her lips curled upwards in wicked delight as she launched herself towards her opponent, morphing into a spider midair and pinning the hapless mage on the ground, heedless of his screams as her pincers tore and ripped his flesh._

_Kallian glanced away, ignoring the mage's screams, her eyes focused on Zevran, who was dancing around three other men who had surrounded the Antivan assassin, his daggers moving so quickly they were blurred._

_Fynn's sharp bark drew her attention, and Kallian lurched to the side as the Mabari sailed over her head, jaws latching onto a tall, burly soldier who had been trying to sneak up on her._

_Leliana and Wynne were surrounded by at least seven others, the bard's daggers flashing furiously as she strove to keep the mercenaries away from Wynne, who was using her staff to good effect._

_Out of the corner of her eye, Kallian could see Marjolaine lifting her bow, arrow nocked and ready, bringing her aim to bear on Leliana. The Warden spun into action, flinging a small throwing knife in the path of the arrow just as it released. The arrow, which would have hit the bard, instead embedded itself into the doorframe, and a moment later, the bardmaster met Kallian's downward slash with a small dagger of her own, a threatening expression on her face as she engaged with the Grey Warden._

_Maker, she's fast. Kallian sidestepped a second, hidden dagger that the Orlesian had added to her arsenal, lashing out with a foot towards her opponent's kneecap in an attempt to destabilize the taller woman. Marjolaine easily danced away, and the two began to spar in earnest, knives flashing in a dangerous dance that only one would survive._

_There was no denying that the taller woman was good, her talents honed from years of fighting as a bard in the Orlesian courts. But it had been a long time since she'd fought against anyone truly challenging, whereas Kallian had been fighting against Darkspawn no with little respite. Inch by inch, the bardmaster's body faltered, and Kallian began to drive her back._

_Marjolaine's movements became more harried, desperate, as one by one, her guards fell. The Orlesian's eyes began to dart around wildly, searching for an opening through which she could escape._

_Over my dead body, Kallian thought grimly, snapping out with her left foot, sending Marjolaine's dagger flying into the fireplace. Another kick and the bardmaster flew against the wall. Desperate, the taller woman lunged towards the elf, her eyes murderous. The Warden narrowly sidestepped the attack, the outstretched hands flying overhead, and Marjolaine's foot caught on a low stool, tripping her. The elf could only watch as the bardmaster fell face-first into the fire, her expensive dress ignited by the hot coals._

_A bloodcurdling shriek echoed throughout the room, the burning woman falling to the ground as she tried to extinguish the flames. But the gauzy fabric was like tinder, and Marjolaine's screams grew more harried as the flames engulfed her whole body._

_Wynne quickly sprang into action, her hands weaving an elaborate pattern as she halted the fire, the flames dying rapidly under a blast of freezing air. She and Leliana joined Kallian at Marjolaine's side, the older mage kneeling beside the bardmaster and quickly assessing the extent of the injuries._

_Kallian's eyes met Wynne's, the older woman pursing her lips and shaking her head. The injuries were too severe, even for an experienced healer._

_The shrieks grew louder. _

"_Maker have mercy." Leliana's hands snapped out, ending Marjolaine's life with her bare hands._

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Maker have mercy._

Even in the end, she had prayed for mercy.

Kallian stepped up to the fire, kneeling beside the ashes and prodding the dying embers to life with a well-practiced hand. She added a few logs, stoking the small fire until the dying coals turned into a small inferno, keeping a small watch on Leliana out of the corner of her eyes.

No change in expression, nothing. Leliana remained motionless, her knees drawn tightly against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her eyes were vacant, unseeing.

Kallian let out a shuddering sigh, slowly backing away from the fire. She hesitated for a brief moment before taking a seat beside the young bard, making sure to keep a little space between them.

_Maker have mercy._

Kallian reached into one of her belt pouches, pulling out a small, fine-banded ring. She studied it, allowing long buried memories to surface. "I was to be married. That was the day I met Duncan. He was there to attend my wedding."

Finally, some movement. Leliana's head slowly turned, her sapphire gaze leveling on the Warden. "You...were engaged?" Leliana's voice was dry, almost raspy – very unlike the bard's. The voice of someone who had been broken – shattered.

"It was an arranged marriage," Kallian added quickly; though why she felt the need to clarify so quickly she was uncertain. "I didn't know the man. I didn't even want to marry him. But if I had caused trouble..." Kallian let out a sigh. "Shianni. That was the reason I was marrying him."

A long pause. "Who was she?" The bard's voice had taken on an odd tone, which Kallian had to think about for a moment before she realized what was running through Leliana's mind.

"No," Kallian shook her head furiously, a deep blush shadowing her features. "Shianni was my cousin."

"I'm... I'm sorry," Leliana blushed, somewhat mollified. "I just assumed..."

"It's okay," Kallian touched Leliana's hand in reassurance, though the bard flinched slightly at the contact. The elf quickly drew her hand away. "Shianni...she was a year younger – she had a brother, Soris, who was my age. He also was to be married that day."

Leliana nodded, her shoulders lifting slightly. Encouraged, Kallian continued. "Their parents died when we were young in that revolt I spoke of. My father took them in. Shianni – she was like my little sister. We grew up together, the three of us."

"I understand," Leliana said. "When I was with Lady Cecilie – I sometimes played with the other servants' children. A wistful pause. "I often wished for a sister my own age." She regarded Kallian curiously. "Why did you have to get married for your family? Surely they wanted you to be happy?"

_Shianni, spinning around in the embroidered green dress. That dress had belonged to her mother…_

_He is so handsome, cousin. I hope I'll marry someone as handsome as he is…  
_  
"Because," Kallian said softly. "Shianni and Soris were orphans. My father could not afford Shianni's dowry, so she had no choice but to marry whoever the village elder chose. Valendrian, he...thought me a troublemaker, and had...warned me against causing trouble for my family during the ceremony."

"He threatened your cousin?"

Kallian smirked at the outrage in Leliana's voice. "In so many words, no. He just cautioned that my behavior at the ceremony would be a reflection on my whole family. We both knew that he had begun to scout for potential suitors for Shianni. She would have been married in a year, had it not been for..."

_A dagger, slipping clean between the lower ribs, its sharpened point angling upwards just so to penetrate the heart. Blood...so much blood._

_Take me home._

"Kallian?"

_Shianni, curled up on the floor, trembling hands holding together her tattered dress. Her beautiful dress._

"Kallian!" Leliana's voice cut through the dark memories. The elf inhaled sharply, shaking off the memories as she ran a hand through her ebony locks.

"I'm...sorry." Kallian turned her attention back towards the fire. "My groom's name was Nelaros." She held up the thin band, studying it in dim firelight. "He gave me this on our wedding day. I...it didn't feel right to sell it."

"I'm sorry," Leliana said softly, resting a hand on Kallian's arm.

"I'm not," the elf laughed curtly, surprising the bard. "He... I guess he was pleasant enough to look at. But when I looked at him, I felt nothing. I wanted…" A pause. "They told me I would fall in love with him in time. But I… I didn't want that." Jade eyes met Leliana's, searching for understanding. "I wanted the freedom to choose. But I was never given the choice."

Kallian took a deep breath, and then continued. "Humans rarely came to our land. But there was one..." Kallian closed her eyes, grinding out the name. "Bann Vaughan, the Arl of Denerim's son. He was cruel, depraved, a pig. Usually, he would just harass the merchants, overturn their carts, maybe break a few of their wares. But that day – he and a pair of drunken friends came to our alienage and tried to grab Shianni." Leliana flinched.

"I tried to distract them – but Shianni," Kallian's eyes unfocused as the memories came rushing to the surface. "She hit the Bann over the head with a pot. Knocked that bloody bastard out. His friends carried him out of the alienage – but he returned later, with a full guard."

_The hand lashed out, catching her across the temple. Kallian immediately dropped, glancing around desperately for her cousin._

"_Shianni, run!"_

"Did no one stand up to those men?" Leliana's voice was outraged. "Surely the Chantry..."

"The Chantry knew whose gold filled their coffers," Kallian's voice grew hard, her gaze darkening as she met Leliana's own. "The Arl of Denerim was a powerful man. Dead now, I suppose, at Ostagar. But the Chantry was not willing to risk his anger. Not for a few elves."

"Everyone in the alienage," Kallian continued, "the merchants, the laborers, even the elders – they were terrified of bringing the wrath of the nobles down on us. So there was no one." The voice dropped to a whisper. "I tried to intervene, but Vaughan went straight for Shianni. When I tried to attack him, I...everything went dark."

_Shianni's screams echoing down the hall. Slash, hack, kill… Have to get there. Have to get to Shianni…_

Leliana's fingers curled into her legs, a single tear slipping out of the corner of her eye, unnoticed, as Kallian continued her story. "When I woke up, we were locked in one of the Bann's storage cellars. The guards came shortly afterwards – they killed Nola – cut her down in the middle of a prayer. They took Shianni directly to Bann Vaughan's quarters. I tried to stop them – they knocked me out again."

_She beat on the door until her hands were bloody, screaming for them to take her instead._

Kallian's breath caught in her throat. Had the air around the campsite gotten colder? The elf shivered, rubbing her biceps in an attempt to ward off the chill night air. As if emerging from a daze, Leliana slowly slid closer to the Warden, an arm slipping around the elf's waist.

"Soris – he came for me. He and Nelaros had some fool hardy plan to rescue us all. It got Nelaros killed, in the end." Kallian fingered a scar just below her right eye. "The guard captain who killed him gave me this – right before I sunk my dagger into his heart. We tried to make it to Shianni, but there were just too many of them." The green eyes grew unfocused. "Just...so many guards. Shianni was screaming, but we just couldn't get there fast enough. There were too many of them," Kallian's eyes searched out Leliana's, pleading for absolution the bard could not provide.

"I..."

"It was too late by the time we got there," Kallian continued, not hearing. "There was Shianni and she was crying and then the Bann tried to offer us a deal but I was just so angry at him and then he was dead and it should have been me that day, Leliana," Kallian's voice cracked. "It should have been me."

The bard's arms slowly folded around her as Kallian's composure broke, sobs shaking her shoulders. For the first time since she left the alienage, Kallian allowed herself to grieve.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana rested her forehead against the elf's hair, her mind a whirlwind of emotions – anger, despair, outrage, guilt. Her heart positively ached for her friend – how long had she been forced to bear that terrible burden?

"Is…is that why you joined the Grey Wardens?" Leliana asked softly, praying that she would not be rebuffed.

Kallian swallowed, nodding weakly. "When the guards came for me, Duncan conscripted me. I had no choice – I had to leave. If I had stayed it would have been chaos. Too many would have died." Another sob. "And Maker… they still rioted. My family…"

Leliana's hold on the elf tightened, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. Now, she understood the reason for the elf's despair when they first set foot in Denerim. The alienage had been under lockdown, its gates guarded by the city. The young elf had raced around in a panic, searching for another entrance to her home – but they had all been found and sealed off. The guard would not even let her get a message inside.

"We'll find a way so you can see them," Leliana promised softly. "I swear this." The emerald eyes lifted, meeting the bard's own in genuine gratitude.

"Thank you," Kallian murmured softly, her eyes drifting shut as the bard's thumb traced gently along the curve of her jaw. Leliana swallowed, realizing the unintended intimacy. She blushed, turning away so Kallian could not see the embarrassment on her face, and allowed her hands to fall in her lap.

She realized for the first time just how selfish she had been. Kallian had been nothing if supportive of her, and yet, all this time, the elf had borne her suffering silently in silence. No longer, the bard promised herself. The Maker had set her on this path for a reason – she would see it through to its conclusion.

"How could you do it?" The question caught her off-guard, and she met the emerald gaze with a frown.

"How could I do what?" Leliana asked, catching one of Kallian's tears with her thumb. The elf shivered slightly, glancing away, her cheeks darkening noticeably.

"How could you ask the Maker to have mercy on Marjolaine?"

An honest question, though the answer failed her for a moment.

"I…I…wasn't… I didn't…" Leliana pursed her lips, looking away. "I wasn't praying for mercy for Marjolaine," the bard softly. "I… was praying that the Maker show mercy to _me_."

"But you didn't do anything wrong!" The elf's indignation was cute, though misguided.

"Did I not?" She replied bitterly. "The Chantry teaches that we are to forgive those who wrong us – yet I did not – I cannot. Does that mean I am no better than Marjolaine? I am not certain."

"Don't you dare…" Kallian grasped Leliana's chin firmly, surprising the bard with her intensity. "Marjolaine brought that fate upon herself. Don't you ever blame yourself for that."

"Did not Bann Vaughan deserve his fate?" Leliana inquired softly, willing Kallian to see the truth behind her own words.

The elf recoiled. "Yes," she said finally, albeit reluctantly. "He deserved to die. Not just for Shianni, but for all the elves he hurt. But," Kallian lifted her chin, her determined gaze falling upon the bard, "you are nothing like Marjolaine."

"Marjolaine was right about one thing," Leliana admitted. If only she had known someone like Kallian in Orlais – someone who had such an unshakable faith in her companions. Would she have ever fallen prey to Marjolaine's web of intrigue? The bard studied the Warden pensively. "I did enjoy the game – intrigues, the seductions, the thrill of the chase. I was everything Marjolaine said and more." The truth was so much more painful."

Kallian's hand slid from Leliana's chin, cupping the bard's cheek, tracing a thumb along the sunken features. "You are not that person anymore."

Leliana's eyes closed, leaning instinctively into the Warden's touch, savoring the contact, the closeness. Maker, it had been so long. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because," Kallian said matter-of-factly, "evil doesn't worry about doing the right thing." The elf allowed her hand to fall atop the bard's, leaning in, expression painfully earnest. _Maker – she's so innocent._ "Do you think Marjolaine spent her nights worrying about the people she hurt?"

And yet Kallian had an uncanny ability to get to the heart of the matter. The bard glanced away briefly, contemplating her response. "No," she managed, bile thick in her throat. "Marjolaine never did." The admission hurt. Had Marjolaine ever really cared about her? Had she ever loved her? Or had she only sought to manipulate her, to use her for her own selfish ends?

Kallian remained silent, and for a long time, each woman stared into the fire, lost in their own collection of thoughts. Eventually, Leliana's eyelids began to droop, the weight of countless sleepless nights finally catching up to the bard. She hesitated momentarily before scooting closer to the Warden, leaning her head on Kallian's shoulder.

"Hold me," Leliana pleaded softly, and Kallian obliged, slipping her arm around the bard's waist. Leliana rested her head against the crook of Kallian's neck, allowing her eyes to close.

It was her first dreamless sleep since Denerim.

* * *

You were so very sweet, staying with me that night. You had to have been exhausted, yet you stayed by my side, the entire evening, long after you could have gone to bed. It was the safest I had felt since leaving Orlais. Somehow, I was able to sleep, knowing that you would be watching over me.

I slip outside the window, easily making my way along the narrow ledge to a gentle slope of rooftop a short distance from my room. I spend my nights staring at the stars, tracing idle patterns like we used to.

I can freely talk to you, here on the rooftop, far from the prying ears. Every once in awhile, a star will shoot across the sky.

Those nights, I know you are listening to me. Watching me.

Waiting for me.


	9. Under the Stars

**Chapter 8: Under the Stars**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**To defile the ashes of the Great prophetess  
Was their only desire, their only quest.  
We refused their wishes, they chose to engage us  
We destroyed their all their reavers and apostate mages.**

**We entered the temple, passed all the trials,**  
**Surmounted the traps that sought to beguile.**  
**A pinch of her ashes we took to Arl Eamon,**  
**Who awoke much weaker but free from the Demon.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana sat on the edge of the docks, gently nudging ripples across the glossy surface of the black water. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of drunken revelry as the villagers of Redcliffe turned out to celebrate the recovery of Arl Eamon. The castle was strangely silent, a stark contrast to the gaiety of the village. Leliana knew the Arl was in mourning for the loss of his wife and for so many of his servants, as well as Redcliffe's villagers.

The official story was that Isolde had personally confronted the demon behind the Redcliffe attacks. An apostate mage, who was secretly spying on the Arl on the orders of Teyrn Loghain, had been behind the attacks. The Templars from the Circle had already been called out to help clean up the aftereffects of the assault. Lady Isolde died during the confrontation, but not before destroying the demon that threatened the lives of Redcliffe village. Leliana had been surprised when Kallian suggested the story, but its intended effect calmed even Alistair's most fervent protests. Lady Isolde was seen as a hero, and in the end, Leliana supposed it made for a better story. Connor's secret status as a mage remained intact, and the boy was already on his way to the Circle Tower.

A pair of footfalls moved softly across the wooden planks, and the bard cocked her head to the side, listening with a knowing ear to the familiar pattern of steps. A smile crossed her face as Kallian slowly eased herself to a seat beside the bard, holding out a wooden cup filled with a sweet-smelling liquid.

"Honey mead." Kallian answered the unspoken question as she handed the mug to Leliana, who sniffed at it for only a second before taking a long sip. The bard closed her eyes, savoring the taste of the sweet but deceptively potent liquor.

"Thank you," Leliana leaned comfortably against the Warden, her hand gently brushing Kallian's own. For the past fortnight, they had been nearly inseparable – in fact, they had almost made it a game, skirting around their mutual attraction for each other. Leliana blushed deeply when she recalled the varied reactions of their friends the first time Kallian emerged from her tent.

It was nothing so sordid as the others had imagined. Rather, she had been in the throes of a horrid nightmare about her time in Orlais. Kallian had overheard her cries, slipping into her tent and waking her. The elf had stayed with her throughout the rest of the evening, enduring the good-natured ribbing from Zevran, a rather stern lecture from Wynne, and even a deeply poignant conversation with Alistair that took place far from prying ears.

Leliana secretly wondered exactly what Kallian and Alistair had discussed. It had been all-too-obvious that the former Templar had feelings for his fellow Warden – feelings he could ill afford to have if he was to assume Maric's throne. The Landsmeet would hardly welcome an elf from the Alienage as a royal consort, but Leliana doubted Alistair had given much thought to the politics that would consume his life once he was king. Certainly, Leliana had not missed the thoughtful look Kallian had thrown his way when Eamon had mentioned his potential candidacy for the throne.

For sure, the bard had a few ideas about the conversation that had transpired far from prying ears. Once, Alistair had given Kallian a rose, an awkward gesture of affection that left Kallian's eartips the shade of ripe tomatoes. Leliana had watched the event with a strange mixture of amusement and jealousy. Even though she knew Kallian's feelings for Alistair were strictly platonic, the two Wardens shared a bond Leliana would never be able to understand. The events at Ostagar had somehow brought the two of them together, binding them closer than blood ever could.

Meanwhile, her own relationship with the Warden was progressing so slowly it was maddening. Every night since the nightmares had first stolen her sleep, the elf had made some excuse to sneak her way into Leliana's tent. Kallian had an uncanny talent for knowing exactly when Leliana needed her the most, and on more than one occasion the bard had opened her eyes to the sight of her Warden fast asleep.

_Her Warden_. An unconscious smile rose to her lips. It had been nearly a fortnight since she and Kallian had spent the evening under the stars. Leliana lifted her boots, admiring the way the moonlight danced off the tiny golden charms. She could scarcely believe that Kallian had remembered such an idle fancy, much less how the elf had managed to find such a pair, especially in the foothills around Haven, where villages were scarce and merchants even more so.

Every night, Kallian would hold her, whispering soothing words into the bard's ears until she fell into a dreamless sleep. During the day, Kallian's time was occupied by any number of tasks that demanded her attention, though it was apparent the bard was never far from her thoughts. Sometimes, Leliana would catch Kallian studying her out of the corner of her eye, her confusion plainly evident. Of course these stolen glances rarely went unnoticed, and on more than one occasion merciless teasing had ensued.

Leliana didn't mind the teasing much. Certainly, she preferred Zevran's shameless banter over Morrigan's catty commentary or Wynne's scolding.

Leliana stole a quick glance towards the elf, who was resting comfortably on outstretched hands, her feet kicking gently back and forth off the edge of the pier. The thin lines of worry and stress that normally decorated the Warden's face seemed much more relaxed, the hint of a rare smile upon her mouth.

Then Kallian's eyes were upon her, studying her with an intensity that sent a delicious shiver through the bard's body. "Cold?" Kallian's eyebrow arched in concern, her ears twitching slightly as she traced a thumb across Leliana's hand.

"A little." Leliana admitted, playfully nudging Kallian's shoulder. "Did you get tired of the party?"

Kallian rolled her eyes. "I'm not a hero," she muttered, and Leliana was forced to hide her grin in another sip of mead. The one thing Kallian absolutely abhorred was being the center of attention, and the Warden had certainly been seeing a lot of it within the past week. Arl Eamon had even declared her a champion of Redcliffe.

"I don't know about that," Leliana teased. "How many other female Wardens are there in Ferelden who save innocent villages from being destroyed, take on fearsome abominations and slay terrifying dragons, fighting through an angry horde to discover the secret hiding place of Andraste's Ashes? They will be singing your tale for centuries."

Kallian groaned, setting her mug down for a moment and burying her face in her hands. "Why can't things go back to the way they were? I liked it a lot better when everyone thought the Grey Wardens killed King Cailan. Now, they're constructing a statue to honor me in the middle of the town square. A statue!"

Leliana giggled at the elf's exasperation, looking at the aforementioned statue. It wasn't a bad likeness of the elf, though it was far from complete. She had to admit, though, that the ears seemed a tad too...large and certain aspects of her body a bit too...endowed.

"I rather like it," Leliana said with a grin. "It brings out your eyes."

Kallian snorted. "And every male between here and Denerim will make a special journey to Redcliffe to honor the elf with the biggest pair of...mmmph!"

"Hush, you." A firm hand over the mouth silenced the Warden's tirade. "And it's called artistic license. Besides, I have it on very good authority that the sculptor of that statue is a woman, and she was very interested in learning all your most _intimate_ secrets."

The horror on Kallian's face was priceless, and the bard's laughter echoed across the pier. The Warden scowled, reaching out and poking Leliana in the side. Before she knew it, Kallian was tickling her in earnest, slender fingers drawing an indignant squawk from the bard. Drink long forgotten, Leliana twisted and squirmed, giving as good as she got, trying to evade the Warden's hands. The play, however childish, was refreshing, and it continued for several minutes, until laughter claimed them both.

For the first time since Denerim, Leliana felt like a terrible weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She stole a glance at Kallian, whose eyes were closed, a blissful smile on her face. She looked so peaceful, so relaxed, as if Andraste herself had given them this moment.

"I almost forgot," the Warden pushed up abruptly, a pair of serious emerald eyes regarded the bard intently. "Don't move."

She disappeared before Leliana could argue, and the bard watched the Warden run off with a wistful expression. That she'd fallen in love with the ebony-haired elf could not be disputed, but Maker, things were progressing maddeningly slow. Even when they were alone, Kallian seemed hesitant to take things further, and despite having several occasions to do so, she had not yet kissed the bard.

Leliana wondered if it was the elf's own inexperience that kept her from moving forward, or if it was something else. _Maybe you are too soiled, too tainted. _Leliana clamped down on that line of thought, refusing to dwell on her own niggling insecurities. Reaching for the safety of her mug, the bard sipped on the mead slowly, lost in her thoughts.

"Close your eyes." She had not even heard the Warden approach. Kallian's lips were a mere hairsbreadth from her ear, and the bard bit her lip at the sensual tone. She complied, feeling the mug gently pried from her fingertips and replaced by something unfamiliar, though recognizable. Long, experienced fingers traced up and down the narrow stems, lifting and cradling the delicate blossoms.

"Smell them," came the soft command, and Leliana complied, burying her nose in the soft petals. The scent was familiar, and reminded her of the spring, and of the sunshine, and of...

Leliana's eyes snapped open, letting out a startled gasp. Andraste's grace. _But how..._

"These are the ones, no?" Kallian knelt beside the bard, her eyes searching for affirmation.

"I..." Leliana's voice trailed off. She had not seen any of these delicate blossoms since she was a young child in Orlais. The bard pressed her nose into flowers, allowing the memories of her mother to surface. Her rich, auburn hair coiffed perfectly, the long, lean lines of her neck. The high, soft planes of her cheek bones and a pair of blue eyes that were filled with laughter and with love.

For a moment, she was five, a young princess dancing and twirling to an imaginary tune.

_"Leli," the familiar voice called to her, and the young girl crawled into her mother's lap, wrapping a pair of spindly arms around the older woman's neck._

_"My sweet girl," her mother's voice was like warm chocolate. "My precious, beautiful baby girl."_

Leliana looked up, bright eyes meeting the Grey Warden's with gratitude. "Thank you," the bard whispered, fighting back the tide of emotion. She would not allow herself to cry – not over these memories. There had been far too many sorrows in her life lately – she would not allow them to ruin this one perfect moment. "Where did you find these?"

"Under the windmill," Kallian nodded to the towering building high on the cliff side. "They matched your description."

"But they're so rare – and they almost never grow away from a source of water," Leliana stared at the Warden in wonder. "My description – it wasn't that detailed. How did you find these? Surely there were others…"

"We've passed by a lot of open fields," Kallian shrugged, though her cheeks grew visibly darker in the moonlight.

"You've been looking all this time?" Leliana stared at the flowers in wonder. "For me? But… why?"

Kallian's fingertips dipped underneath the bard's chin, drawing her eyes upwards, to meet the elf's own darkening gaze. "Because you are worth it, and so much more."

"I…" For once, the bard had no words. How could she even begin to thank Kallian for this? There were no words. Maker, there were no…

The lips pressed against her own, hesitantly at first, and then with more surety, as all conscious thought fled the bard's mind.

_Maker, she is so soft._ Leliana marveled in the silky sensation of Kallian's lips against her own. Canting her head slightly, she deepened the kiss, her free hand reaching up to twine in the Warden's ebony tresses. She began to feel a bit dizzy, and offhandedly remembered to breathe.

And as the air entered her lungs, she inhaled sharply. Kallian's scent was of the forest, of the richness of the earth mingled with the sweetness of the lye soap she favored. There were other smells too, of leather, of sweat, and a scent that belonged uniquely to the Warden.

Kallian mimicked Leliana's actions, teasing the bard playfully with teeth, tongue, and lips. Leliana moaned when the Warden nibbled gently at her lower lip. Of their own volition, the bard's lips parted, inviting further exploration. She was not disappointed, and was rewarded by further deepening of the kiss and the feeling of Kallian's arms slipping around her waist.

She gripped the elf tighter, her hands moving as if they had a mind of their own, tracing the lines of Kallian's armor. Fingertips teased across leather and rivets, finding each bit of flesh, marveling at its smoothness – teasing and stroking the skin until it nearly drove the Warden mad with desire.

Leliana's fingertips traced a path down Kallian's spine, rewarded by a delectable shiver. She grinned slightly, applying the slightest pressure to the elf's back, rewarded as Kallian followed her to the ground, stretching out atop the bard, braced only by her forearms and elbows.

The bard's fingers trailed up Kallian's triceps, marveling at the way the muscles twitched under the scantest touch, moaning into the kiss as the Warden's actions became more urgent, more harried. Those lips – those wonderful lips – had left her mouth now, trailing down to her pulse point and latching on with greedy urgency.

Leliana's back arched of its own accord, and her eyes squeezed more tightly shut when the Kallian's weight finally settled, moaning at the sensation of the Warden's lips and tongue, along with the wonderful feeling of closeness. The elf's fingertips played against the junction of her armor, drifting lower, and Leliana moaned as her nipples hardened in the chill night air.

Kallian's free hand began to move to points further south, drifting closer, closer…

SPLASH.

A huge wave of water washed over the two women, startling them out of their attentive ministrations and drawing an expression of outrage from the young Warden, who sat up, pinning her swimming Mabari with a murderous expression.

"Fynn!"

The Mabari barked happily, staring at the two women with a lolling tongue and an inquisitive expression.

* * *

Even now, when I think of that moment, I am forced to smile. Never before had I ever felt such passion in such a commonplace gesture. Our first kiss was everything I could have hoped it to be, and so much more than I ever could have imagined. Except for our dousing at the hands of your good-natured Mabari, the evening couldn't have been more perfect.

No, it was perfect, even with the interruption.

You were so cute afterwards, even after we realized the petals of the Andraste's grace had been thoroughly soaked by your Mabari and crushed in the height of passion. You looked so crestfallen then – I nearly kissed you again right there. Instead, I assured you I could save the petals. That didn't stop you from presenting me with a fresh bouquet the next day, but I will always remember fondly that night, our special moment under the stars.

I trace my fingers now along those petals, carefully dried and preserved between the pages of my journal. Fynn whines a little, and I reach down and scratch his head. He misses you terribly, I can tell. Every time the door opens his ears perk up and I can tell he's expecting you to come waltzing through, patting him on the head and scratching his favorite spot right behind his left ear. I reach down and scratch that spot now, comforting him now.

Sometimes I am saddened when I remember all of all the time we wasted circling around our feelings. I often wonder if it would have been different if I'd known then just how short of a time we had left.

Maybe things would have been different, then.

But then I think of all those moments spent lying together under the stars, pointing out the constellations. The stolen glances – the laughter.

And I realize I wouldn't change a thing.


	10. Brink

**Chapter 9: Brink**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Eamon's forces joined ours, though the path wasn't easy.  
****To the Dalish we went to enforce our old treaty  
****Only to find them in need of our aid  
****For elves were afflicted by a very dark plague.**

**To end vile curse we entered the forest  
****Though we knew little of the task brought before us.  
****The werewolf lair was deep in a glade.  
****We accessed it through power of blood and of blade.**

**We met with the werewolves, journeyed deep to their lair,  
****Parlayed with their leader – a Lady most fair.  
****She told us the source of their terrible woes  
****Was an ancient dispute between two very old foes.**

**We helped cure the poor beasts, brought peace to the region  
****In return for our help we secured a legion  
****Of hunters and craftsmen and soldiers and trappers  
****Our army was growing a great deal faster.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The attacks came from all sides.

Kallian and Zevran were the initial focus of the assault. Their attackers had emerged from the fog, moving so quickly that an alarm couldn't be called. Kallian's dual blades spun with exacting precision, the Warden back-to-back with the Antivan in a deadly dance that repelled all who would dare take on the two assassins. Alistair and Sten held the flanks, the Qunari's sword moving in broad, sweeping blows that cut through the thickened hides of the werewolves like butter. Alistair, defter in his movements than the Qunari, swung sword and shield with deadly precision, taking the heads off of any werewolves who made it past Sten's recently recovered blade. The two mages held position between the warriors, protected by their blades and by Fynn's razor sharp teeth.

Leliana cursed, sending a poison-tipped arrow into the chest of another beast, shifting her stance slightly to allow the creature to fall to the ground beside her, convulsing in its final death throes. She skirted along the periphery of the fight, never losing sight of Kallian, afraid that if her attention wavered for even a moment, the elf would disappear under a pile of teeth and claws.

Another arrow, this time into the heart of a werewolf that had been creeping up on Wynne's blind side. The older mage shot the bard a grateful look before returning to the task at hand of reinforcing their party's shields.

They'd made their camp in the remains of an old apostate's clearing. The hermit – half-crazed from isolation and age – had not taken too kindly to strangers rummaging through his campsite, attacking them without much provocation, even after Kallian had tried to negotiate for the Great Oak's acorn. Aneirin had directed them towards the clearing, though he would not stray too close to the site, warning them only that significant obstacles remained in their path. He had returned after the battle, assisting his former mentor in healing a few injuries before taking his leave to set up camp alone. It had been too late to proceed deeper into the forest, so they'd set up camp and Wynne had placed a few protective wards designed to shield them from prying eyes.

But the forest would not be dissuaded by the trappings of a single mage.

The first attack had been sudden. Leliana and Kallian had been sharing watch, and the bard had been pleasantly drifting in and out of consciousness when she was startled suddenly by a yell. Her lover had roughly pushed her aside, and as the bard struggled to regain her senses, she caught sight of the elf wrestling with a much larger werewolf, the creature's jaws snapping dangerously close to her neck.

The Orlesian had reacted quickly, throwing one of her daggers towards the werewolf, catching him on the shoulder and causing the beast to roar in both pain and anger. Kallian used that opportunity to deliver a well-timed stab just below the creature's ribs, driving the tip of her own blade directly into the beast's heart.

Now, Kallian stood side-by-side with Zevran, working together seamlessly to fend off attacks that seemed focused solely on the two elves. Maker, Leliana knew her lover had been training with the assassin – she had even watched some of their sessions – but seeing the pair move in near perfect tandem was pure poetry.

"Leliana, careful!" Wynne's voice called out from behind her, and the bard spun, though too late to take advantage of the mage's warning. Leliana felt the breath leave her body as a large, charcoal-coated wolf impacted her squarely in the chest.

The redhead managed a startled gasp, acting mainly on instinct, allowing the force of the blow to roll her into a backwards somersault. She kicked upwards with all her strength, sending her assailant into the fire pit, the acrid stench of oily fur nearly causing her to gag. She clawed her way from the campfire's edge, rising on unsteady feet, only to find herself buried under another set of grimy, scratching claws.

Kallian had broken free of the fight with Zevran, racing towards Leliana, where she flung herself onto the back of the bard's second attacker. She plunged her dagger through the werewolf's matted fur, giving the poisoned blade a vicious twist. The bard almost winced in sympathy for the creature – she had watched as the Antivan taught her lover the precarious art of poison-crafting, and knew from her own experience that this particular concoction would cause the heart to seize in short order. The creature let out a roar, jumping high into the air, flailing wildly, trying to throw the smaller elf from its back.

"Wynne!" Kallian's eyes were wild, and Leliana turned, the rest of the battle fading away as she saw the one called Swiftrunner standing several feet behind the taller woman. He had somehow managed to slip behind the older mage's defenses, felling the woman with a large rock. Wynne struggled to right herself, her eyes glazed from what was surely a serious head injury.

"No!" The bard raced towards the two, lunging towards them just as Swiftrunner raised the rock high above his head. Leliana tackled the beast, the rock falling from the werewolf's hand as they fell into a tangled heap. White hot lightning blinded her as a pair of fangs embedded themselves into her shoulder, ripping and tearing at her flesh. Leliana screamed – she couldn't help it, really, so terrible was the pain of the werewolf's curse. She could feel the fire consume her, tearing at her body, like a giant hand reaching into her chest and trying to pull out her still-beating heart.

And then all fell silent.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Kallian turned just as Leliana shrieked, having slain one of the last members of the attacking party. Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw Swiftrunner take her lover down.

"Leli!" A blinding rage consumed the Warden and she darted past the trail of corpses to the bard's fallen form. Swiftrunner's dark gaze met Kallian's own, a grotesque smile curling the corner of his mouth. Squaring his shoulders in challenge, he stepped back beyond the tree line, disappearing into the dark fog.

Kallian was torn between her desire to find Swiftrunner and tear him apart and attending to the bard, whose eyes had glazed over, her skin taking on a silvery sheen. Leliana's muscles twitched, her body spasming as her mouth formed a perfect oval, caught in the rictus of silent agony. The Warden slid to a stop beside her fallen lover, her heart pounding violently in her chest. The elf tore off her helmet, pressing her hands to Leliana's shoulder as she tried to staunch the flow of blood.

_So much blood._

"Maker no," Alistair moaned, his helmet falling to the earth beside Kallian, drawing the back of a gauntleted fist across his forehead, blinking away the blood and sweat. He looked over to the only other warrior in their small party, and though the Qunari's gaze remained stoic, doubt clouded his eyes. Looking once more at the Orlesian, Alistair shook his head silently.

_She's not going to make it. _Alistair wondered what would happen when the other Warden realized that unfortunate truth.

"Wynne!" The scream seemed to come from another person. Kallian struggled to maintain her tenuous control as she pressed hard against the pulsing wound. The shredded flesh felt hot to her fingertips, and Kallian bit her lower lip when her lover seized, her limbs flailing uncontrollably. Wynne, still disoriented from her head injury, scrambled to the pair's side, quickly removing Kallian's hand and replacing it with her own, murmuring the appropriate healing spell under her breath. Almost immediately, the flow of blood stopped, the wound beginning to close in on itself. Worried eyes scanned the fallen woman, noting the thin trickle of blood which appeared at the corner of the bard's mouth, crimson tracking against the pale skin.

"Wynne, you have to help her." Kallian pleaded, her voice a half-sob as she tried to restrain Leliana, who was undergoing another seizure. Her normally bright blue eyes had darkened and were beginning to roll up into her head. "Please, she's dying."

"I see that," Wynne snapped, the panic infecting her own body. Quickly, she waved her hands over the bard's torso, her face instantly paling as she realized what was going on. "No," she murmured, eyes going wide. "It can't be."

"The curse is taking hold of her body. She has a few hours, at most." Morrigan knelt down by Leliana's other side, passing her own hands across the bard's body. She looked up at Kallian. "She will not likely survive the night."

"But it takes several days to take hold. Zathrian said..." Kallian's voice rose along a crescendo of rising panic.

"Zathrian only spoke the partial truth." Another, less familiar voice rang out, and Aneirin knelt down beside the ailing woman, pressing his hand across her forehead. Almost instantly the bard quit convulsing, though her closed eyelids kept twitching intermittently. "On elves, the curse takes several days to manifest itself. But in humans, I've seen the curse transform in as little as a day. She was bitten in a bad place. The toxin has already settled in her heart."

"No..." Kallian pulled the bard tightly against her body, rocking back and forth. "No," she whispered again, pressing her lips against her lover's forehead and burying her face in the sweat-soaked hair.

For once, Wynne felt at a total loss. She, as well as the others in their camp, knew that something had transpired between the women at Redcliffe. However, the mage had not realized until this moment just how serious they had become. Wynne shook her head in disapproval, fearing the worst. Kallian was a Grey Warden, and the duty she had to Ferelden had to supersede all of her personal desires, even love.

Wynne knew, perhaps more than most, just how severe this threat had become. Already she had lost many friends and colleagues to the Darkspawn. Only a Grey Warden could stop the Blight, and given that there were only two in Ferelden, any distraction had potentially dire consequences.

And this scenario formed the basis of Wynne's reservations. If Leliana died, would Kallian be able to pursue her duty? Love was an inherently selfish emotion, and the loss of one's lover often sent the surviving partner into a spiral of deep despair. Kallian could ill afford to be so debilitated.

She had seen this scenario play out countless times before in the Circle. Once, she had known a young mage and a Templar who fallen in love. The mage had been fresh out of her Harrowing – the Templar newly assigned to the Tower. It was a relationship that should never have happened. The pair had cleverly managed to hide their forbidden relationship some time before Wynne had learned. She had approached the woman – a former pupil of hers, urging her to see reason and to leave the relationship.

She had even shared her own story with her former pupil, hoping that her own tale of loss would persuade the younger woman to see reason. But the mage was headstrong, much like Kallian, and had flippantly disregarded Wynne's caution. No more than a few days passed before Knight Commander Greagoir had found out about the dalliance. He'd ordered the pair flogged, the templar was sent to prison, and the young girl was imprisoned for nearly a month before it was decided she would be made Tranquil. Wynne had argued fervently with Irving over the girl's punishment, but the Senior Enchanter would not be dissuaded. It was the only way to keep the peace between the Circle Tower and the Templars.

Wynne remembered the broken look in the young mage's eyes the day of their sentencing. By the time the Rite of Tranquility was to be carried out, there was simply nothing left in the young woman.

It was a foolish waste of two lives. And now, she bore unfortunate witness to a very similar turn of events. Kallian was a Grey Warden, and Leliana, despite Kallian's best intentions, could one day fall in battle. Or, in the right circumstances, the elf could carelessly endanger the whole mission for the sake of the bard. The Warden was a wonderful leader, but she was young, emotional, and inexperienced in matters of the heart. The old healer genuinely liked Leliana, but she knew the bard's experience far surpassed the Warden's own. Still, she could see how smitten the young bard was the Warden, and it gave the mage no small cause of concern.

Kallian looked up at Aneirin, tears running down her cheeks. She rocked back and forth, cradling the twitching bard to her chest. "We have to do something. Please."

"We need to end this, before she finishes her transformation." Wynne closed her eyes at the Qunari's fatalistic, though realistic, declaration.

"How dare…?" Kallian's voice was filled with outrage, the elf positively shaking with fury at the warrior's words.

"Would you have her suffer needlessly?" Morrigan intoned dryly, her yellow eyes flashing with defiance. "The transformation is said to be among the most exquisite of tortures." Kallian's flinched at the Morrigan's word choice, and the apostate made a note to file this information away for further examination. "Would you have her die a beast, crawling and spitting like the mindless creatures who attacked her, or would you allow her to retain a shred of her dignity?"

"You can't be serious!" Alistair sputtered. "This is Leliana. She is our friend!"

"So we should allow her to suffer? Far more humane to grant her a quick death than a slow one from the poison," Morrigan snapped back.

"Silence!" Kallian's own voice rose above the din, her green eyes searching out Aneirin's, clinging tenuously to the last remaining fragments of hope. "Can you give her some more time?"

The elf mage studied the Grey Warden for a long moment before nodding slightly. "I can make a potion that will slow the transformation. You will have a day or two, at most. I would suggest you hurry."

The Warden's eyes flashed with renewed purpose, her entire body straightening with icy demeanor. "I will make sure this curse ends," Kallian vowed. "Even if I have to cut Witherfang's heart out myself."

Aneirin's eyes darkened. "I would be careful, Warden, about believing everything you hear. Very rarely is all as it seems."

"What do you mean?" Wynne asked, the note of caution in her former apprentice's voice too powerful to ignore. But he refused to speak further of the matter, instead retreating to the campfire, drawing his leather satchel over his head and pulling out various herbs and potions.

Zevran had been watching this scenario unfold with uncharacteristic silence. Reluctantly, he came up beside Wynne, his dark eyes leveling on the others with trepidation.

"I do not wish to intrude on such a private moment, but if I may," Zevran paused as Kallian looked up, meeting the other elf's anguished eyes. "Should we not try to get her back to the Dalish camp? We remain very exposed in this site – I fear another attack will happen soon."

"Then we will not allow them the opportunity to strike," Kallian's argued, turning her attention to the others. "Sten and Morrigan – be ready to move out in a candlemark. We will find Witherfang's lair…" The Warden's voice trailed off, the rest of the threat hanging in the balance.

"Kallian, this is a foolish course of action." Wynne argued, feeling the weariness settle around her heart. She regarded the elf as a daughter, but for her to risk herself and two others needlessly… "Traveling at night in the Brecilian forest is tantamount to suicide. The path is difficult enough to follow in good light."

"Leliana sacrificed her life for yours. Can we do any less for her?"

"And how many lives will you risk to save hers?" Wynne felt the weight of her years pressing down upon her. "Kallian, think about what you are doing. We cannot find what we cannot see. We must wait until morning." She reached for the elf's shoulder to offer comfort.

"We don't have until morning." The Warden snapped, drawing away from Wynne's outstretched hand. Wynne pursed her lips together, trying to ignore the hurt of the rebuff.

"Kadan, the older mage is correct." Sten's no-nonsense tone brokered no argument. "If we depart now, we strike from a position of weakness. We will fail."

Kallian looked away, hesitation clearly visible. She looked over at the bard, and then at the rest of her companions. Wynne held her breath, silently praying to the Maker that the Warden would make the right decision.

"You are right," Kallian's expression was bleak. "But we will need to travel quickly, and we will have to split into two groups. Sten, Morrigan, and Zevran will come with me to find Witherfang's lair. Wynne – I need you here to help Aneirin. Fynn, you and Alistair will have to provide protection for the second group. Meanwhile, let's reinforce our campsite. I want traps along all borders and double the guard."

Fynn issued a low whine, and Kallian's free hand reached up, idly scratching the Mabari behind his ears. The hound lowered his head, nudging his master gently in the chest. The elf lowered her face into the dog's neck, whispering words too soft for even Wynne's astute hearing. After a moment, the Warden drew her head back, and the Mabari barked sharply before trotting off to help the others.

Wynne could only imagine what the elf had asked of their four-legged companion. Pursing her lips together, she waited until she was assured of at least a little privacy, and then leaned towards the elf. "Kallian, I…"

"Wynne, I know, alright?" Kallian's mood soured. "I haven't forgotten my duty. How can I, when it's staring at me at every turn?"

The older healer bit her tongue, deciding to let the old argument rest for now. She pressed a cool hand on the bard's cheek. She truly liked the young bard, admired the faith that was such big part of her everyday life. So young, Wynne thought sadly. _I am old. I have lived a long, full life. You shouldn't have jumped in the way._

The mage rose shakily to her feet, joining her former apprentice by the fire. At least she could aid in this.

Kallian watched as the older woman departed, her heart growing heavier by the moment. In her arms, Leliana stirred, letting out a soft whimper. The bard's eyes squeezed tightly shut, her body arching in pain. Her skin had taken on a greenish hue, her veins standing out as dark lines against the pale surface. The venom was settling deep now, and the Orlesian was beginning to transform. The Warden's eyes widened in desperation and she tightened her hold on the bard, murmuring softly to her lover.

"Don't you dare give up on me," Kallian pressed her lips against Leliana's feverish forehead. "Don't you dare leave me to do this without you."

Leliana's eyes squinted open, her irises now a murky amber hue. "K… Kal…" The dull eyes focused on her lover's visage, the wild expression tearing at Kallian's heart. "It… hurts."

Green eyes filled with tears as Kallian leaned down, brushing lips against Leliana's own. "I know, love. Hang in there, please. For me."

The tender moment was interrupted by the presence of Aneirin, who approached the pair with a mortar and pestle. Wynne followed, standing mute as her former apprentice knelt beside the young lovers. He pulled out a small potion and poured it into the mixture, swirling the dark concoction together. After they were thoroughly mixed, he glanced at his former mentor and at the Warden apologetically.

"This is just the first dose," he said apologetically. "She will not like drinking this... it is not pleasant and it will cause her much pain."

Kallian grimaced, but nodded firmly, her jaw set. "What do you need me to do?"

"Lift her up, hold her arms and legs down, if you can," Aneirin gestured to the bard. "I will try to pour the mixture down her throat. If I cover her mouth, she will be forced to swallow most of it."

Kallian actually paled, shaking her head frantically. "No, we can't do that. It... she won't respond well to that." The Warden paused, frowning. "Let me try."

Aneirin pursed his lips together. "This cannot be done alone. She will fight you once she tastes the mixture."

"She will fight harder if we try to restrain her," Kallian's eyes met Wynne's, pleading for understanding. "Please, let me try."

Wynne knew the source of Kallian's hesitation. She had been present when they went to confront the bard's former lover in Denerim. But only the elf had been privy to the most intimate details of the bard's terrible betrayal – though Wynne could well deduce at least a portion of what had happened. "Let her try," Wynne agreed reluctantly, ignoring the confusion in her former pupil's gaze.

Aneirin shrugged, clearly dubious, but recognizing an unwinnable argument.

Kallian positioned herself so she was behind the bard, cradling the other woman in her arms. She brushed her lips against her lover's cheek and began to murmur softly into the bard's ear, trying to project all her love into her voice, hoping desperately that Leliana would understand, somehow, that she was safe.

The bard seemed to calm down, her body stilling. Kallian smiled through tear-filled eyes as she held out her hand to Aneirin, taking the medicine and gently holding the cup to the bard's lips.

"Love," Kallian whispered gently. "If you're in there, please listen to me. Open your mouth. Try to drink this all."

Ever so slowly, the Orlesian's mouth opened, and Kallian tipped the mixture into her mouth. The bard nearly coughed and spluttered as the first drops of liquid hit her parched and burning throat, but somehow managed to keep the foul concoction down.

Leliana's body tensed and she whimpered as the medicine began to work. She began to thrash around, and Kallian had to react quickly to avoid spilling the rest of the medicine. "Please," the Warden pleaded. "I know it hurts. But you have to finish the rest of it." A pair of lips pressed against the back of the bard's head. "Please, for me."

The bard whimpered, though she did not open her eyes. After what seemed like a small eternity, Leliana's lips parted.

Wynne glanced at Aneirin out of the corner of her eye, unable to keep from smiling at the slack-jawed elf as he watched Kallian feed every last drop of the potion to the ailing lover. It took several minutes, but eventually the cup was empty. And already Wynne could see the dark veins on the bard begin to recede.

"Amazing," Aneirin said, regarding the Warden with respect. "I've never seen anyone in this state do that before."

Kallian returned his weak smile, rocking Leliana's body back and forth. Aneirin quickly rose. "I will need get more herbs," he said, regarding the Warden cautiously. "We'll need to administer the potion every hour, to keep the poison at bay." With that, the elf disappeared into the forest.

"K...k..." Leliana's weakened voice called out, the bard's eyes fluttering behind closed eyelids.

"I'm here, love." Kallian whispered softly. "I'm here."

"Hurts...so...much..." Leliana whimpered. "W...Wynne's..."

"I'm right here, child," Wynne said quietly, kneeling down beside the pair, her own heart aching at the bard's condition. She pressed a hand against the redhead's cheek, cupping it lightly. Her own eyes filled with tears, smiling sadly as the bard's eyelashes fluttered and her eyes opened, revealing darkened irises that belied the darker changes that were taking place. "I am okay, sweet girl."

A small, nearly imperceptible smile passed over Leliana's lips. "Good," she rasped. It was a struggle, but the bard managed to turn her head towards Kallian, lifting a hesitant finger and brushing at a tear trickling down the Grey Warden's cheek.

"Don't...cry..." Leliana whispered. "I...love...you." The bard cried out as a new wave of pain coursed through her body. Kallian glanced at Wynne helplessly, and the mage quickly pressed a hand against the Orlesian's sweaty forehead, quickly chanting the incantation for a sleeping spell that sent the bard into the Fade's realm. The bard's body slackened, finally relaxed.

Kallian pressed her lips gently against Leliana's. "I love you, too." She looked up at the older Mage, who saw a fierce look of determination pass across Kallian's features. "I will end this curse," Kallian said, her voice dangerously low. "Once and for all."

* * *

I have never dreamt so darkly as I did that evening. Ghosts of my past and present returned to torment me, the only reprieve those moments when you woke me, feeding me that vile concoction that would once more keep the dreams at bay. Throughout the night you nursed me, caring for me and praying to the Maker that I would live to see the morning.

Oh yes, I heard you pray. Even in the midst of my fragmented dreams, I heard your urgent cries to the Maker and Andraste and whichever old Elven gods would listen.

I never told you that I spoke to Wynne about that night. She was more than happy to tell me the entire truth of what unfolded, even the parts that reflected unfavorably upon her.

She told me how you stood down Zathrian when you learned that he was responsible for the curse, remaining true to your principles when it would have been so much easier to destroy Witherfang as he asked. She told me you nearly cried when he turned on you all, forcing you to take up arms against him and help the werewolves, even though you knew it could mean my death

She told me how you sobbed with relief when you all returned to the campsite to find me much weaker, but returned to my normal state.

As for what happened afterwards, when I had recovered and we met in the privacy of my own tent, well, my memories of that are quite fine, thank you very much.


	11. Mountain

**Chapter 10: Mountain**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Our journey was nearly through,  
Old friendships again renewed.  
We journeyed deep into wintry lands  
To our next allies with helping hands.**

**The dwarven king had passed away,**  
**Orzammar was in disarray.**  
**Two potential successors they had**  
**Harrowmont, a noble, and Bhelen, the King's lad.**

**And though prince Bhelen was the King's son,**  
**In the name of Harrowmont, the Provings we won.**  
**For we believed he was the King's choice**  
**His chosen successor, who needed our voice.**

**To the deepest roads we journeyed where few had gone**  
**In search of the anvil and the great Paragon.**  
**In these roads we met our terrible foe**  
**The Archdemon, intent on bringing terrible woe.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Kallian slumped against a large boulder, feeling the full weight of these past weeks settle around her heart like an iron claw. Her skin was a pallid green in the dim light of the cavern, dark purplish circles marring the normally unblemished skin below her eyes. A faint sheen of sweat covered her skin, adding a sickly hue to Warden's demeanor.

Leliana, of course, could not say she was any better. She had lost weight – the seemingly endless days of traipsing through the Deep Roads left her armor dangling loosely from her form. Her own cheeks had sunken in, and in the back of her mind she could still hear Hespith's macabre ramblings.

_First day they come and catch everyone._

The deeper they went into the Roads, the worse things seemed to get. It had been scarcely a day since they'd killed the Broodmother – Leliana still shuddered to think of that foul creature. And it had been nearly three days since they'd seen the Archdemon and its armies begin the long march to Ferelden's southern reaches.

Between the Archdemon and the Broodmother, it was a small wonder anyone had a small scrap of sanity left.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_"Did you see the size of that army?" Alistair's voice rose shrilly above the sound of armored feet marching. He glanced about wildly, his eyes hinting of madness as he spoke. "How are we supposed to defeat that…that thing?"_

_"I suppose we could catapult pieces of your armor into the enemy encampment," Morrigan sniped, her golden eyes flashing. "I wager the smell would drive any creature back underground."_

_Even Sten let out a curse in his native tongue, resting his hand lightly on the pommel of his sword, Asala. "Let us slay this foul beast here; before its troops can set foot on the surface," the Qunari's eyes flashed resolutely. "Let us end this, once and for all."_

_"I have a tendency to agree with Alistair," Zevran swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. "We should plan a strategic retreat – to Nevarra, perhaps?"_

_"We can't," Leliana could not believe they were even having this conversation. The tips of Alistair's ears grew dark red in embarrassment. "If we don't defeat the Archdemon, who will?"_

_"We must press forward. We gave our word to Harrowmont, and we need his aid to defeat the Blight." Wynne leaned wearily on her staff for support. The older mage had been hard pressed to keep up the breakneck pace Kallian had set for the group. Several times, Leliana had seen the mage stumble, though someone was always there to lend a helping hand. Sometimes it was she, sometimes Alistair, sometimes even Zevran or Kallian. But they still pressed on._

_"Sodding right you need the dwarves," Oghren responded gruffly, and Leliana pressed a hand against her nose as the pungent aroma that arose from their newest party member. Maker – surely his ale doesn't smell that bad? Or has he no sense of personal hygiene?_

_"And exactly are we supposed to beat it?" Alistair drew his arms across his chest. "And before you tell me you're going to dress me up and force me to dance the Remigold, can I mention that the Archdemon is not my type?"_

_Kallian rose abruptly, her hand instantly gripping the drawing hersword from her scabbard, an action that caused the remainder of her companions to form up in a tight circle, ready for an imminent attack. All eyes turned to their leader, ready for the steady stream of orders that was sure to follow.  
_

_"Let's move out. We have a long way to go before we reach Branka."_

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

There was little discussion about the Archdemon as the group moved deeper the tunnels. As the numbers of Darkspawn increased, so too did their exhaustion. Night blended into day – time held no meaning here under the surface. They would travel, rest for a few hours, then continue on. The pressure began to show itself in little ways. Commands were issued in short, irritated tones. Mistakes were made. Ambushes sprung that never should have happened.

They were so close now. They had battled a legion of Darkspawn at the entrance to the Dead Trenches. One trip across the bridge and through the last set of caves. The broodmother was dead – though the bard shuddered to think of how many more there must be to produce an army the size of the one they had seen.

The Anvil of the Void was not far away now.

Leliana sat on the edge of a broken pillar, eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath. It felt like they had been marching for days. Every muscle burned – every bone ached. Her eyes felt as if an ogre was trying to hold them shut. The bard slowly uncorked her canteen, taking a sip of the precious water inside. Their once plentiful rations were running low – they would have provisions for only a few more days, and then what? The only creatures down this deep were the Darkspawn and a few isolated nests of deepstalkers. Eating the former was not an option, and the Orlesian shuddered at the thought of having to ingest the latter.

A heavy weight settled next to her and the auburn-headed bard glanced upwards, surprised to see Alistair sitting beside her. The former Templar had dark circles under his eyes – clearly his nightmares had intensified too. This did not surprise Leliana – Kallian's nightmares had increased in intensity and frequency since their encounter with the Archdemon. The deeper they went into the Deep Roads, the worse the dreams became. Leliana had been forced to rouse Kallian twice already from night terrors.

Leliana smiled, briefly, holding out her canteen to the Templar, who accepted the offering gratefully. They had formed an uneasy truce after Alistair learned about her relationship with Kallian. Mostly, they avoided each other, tiptoeing around the matter. The bard wondered if he was still in love with her or if he had finally come to terms that Kallian's interests lay in other directions.

Alistair drank deeply of the precious liquid before handing it back to the bard and nodding his head in gratitude. He glanced with troubled eyes over the bridge that supposedly led to the Anvil.

"What do you think we'll find there?" Leliana asked, concerned over the Templar's worried expression.

"Oh, I imagine we'll find a few ogres, a Hurlock or two, and a Genlock Emissary baking cookies," Alistair quipped. "We'll have a big party and then make nice. Maybe we'll be invited to the wedding."

Leliana barely managed to suppress a grin. "Well I suppose if there is music and flowers and dancing," the bard sighed wistfully, fond memories of Orlesian masquerades flitting about in her mind. "Maker, how I miss the dancing."

"Uh...yeah," Alistair said, instantly remembering why he generally avoided the Orlesian. Kallian began to walk towards the pair, her expression grim.

"Be ready to move out in five," Kallian said, her gaze focused on the other Grey Warden. "We've got a lot of ground to cover." She spun around and left before the Templar could issue a protest.

"Maker," Alistair grumbled as Kallian. "You would think we're in a hurry or something. It's not like we are in the middle of a Blight."

Leliana pursed her lips together, regarding the rest of the group. Sten was crouched low, his hands wrapped around the massive hilt of his sword. He would never allow himself to openly display exhaustion. Still, Leliana could detect the faintest lines of strain around the giant's mouth. But he was a career soldier, and was used to keeping such a maddening pace. Wynne was standing a few feet away the bard, and Leliana could see the signs of overexertion evident in her face. Even Morrigan wore a perpetual scowl, her eyes flitting challengingly to various members of the party.

_We cannot maintain this breakneck pace, or Kallian will have a revolt to worry about in addition to the Darkspawn. Andraste, please forgive me._

Leliana motioned for Wynne to join her. As the mage approached, the redhead immediately pushed to her feet, allowing her balance to falter. She let out what she hoped was a convincing cry as she fell against the older Mage. Alistair let out a surprised yelp, rising to help the bard.

Wynne's own eyes widened in surprise, catching the younger woman, though barely, and Leliana murmured in a low tone meant for the mage's ears only. "Play along, please."

Wynne's eyes met the bard's in understanding, making a point of lowering the bard back to the boulder, murmuring a swelling spell so quickly that she scarcely had time to hear it. Almost immediately the bard felt her ankle grow larger, grimacing at the unpleasant sensation.

"Wha...?" Alistair looked confused, kneeling down beside Leliana as he touched her ankle gingerly. The templar's touch was uncomfortable, but not necessarily painful. Leliana forced herself to cry out, however, drawing on her years of training in the art of deception. Evidently, she still had some talent, because Alistair jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned.

"Let me see," Kallian knelt beside her lover, touching the ankle gingerly. Leliana let out a low hiss, pursing her lips together, realizing that she had not thought this scenario through to its conclusion.

Kallian could simply order Wynne to heal her, for instance, and then they would immediately be at square one. Of course, the older mage could claim that she did not have the fortitude to do so, but Morrigan would surely never make such a claim. Perhaps the apostate would even call her on her deception. The bard's cheeks reddened, refusing to meet her lover's penetrating stare. The elf's fingers probed her ankle, and Leliana winced and whimpered appropriately.

"I guess we'll be remaining here a little longer," Kallian said, slowly backing away from the bard and pushing to her feet. The Warden turned and faced the others. "Alistair, you and Oghren take the canteens and try to find a source of water." The two warriors nodded, gathering up the requested equipment.

"I know of a source of water," Oghren straightened his shoulders slightly. "There are deepstalkers in that area, too. Make for some fine eating."

Kallian nodded, turning and facing Sten. "Sten, follow them – and take some extra canteens." Kallian grimaced at the thought. "We'll need enough provisions for another week or so at least." If this task disturbed the tall Qunari, he gave no sign, merely nodding as he strode to join the other warriors heading towards the eastern spring.

"Morrigan, this seems as good as any time to replenish our Lyrium stores. Do you think you could…"

The witch's eyes narrowed. "I am capable of handling such trivial tasks," she said with warning. "Unlike Alistair, I do not require explicit instructions to find my own navel."

The apostate disappeared into the caverns. Kallian's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, trying to regain her composure, before turning to face the Mabari.

"Fynn, follow Morrigan. Keep her safe." Fynn let out a happy bark and trotted off to follow the mage. As soon as the witch departed, Kallian glanced between Wynne and Leliana. The bard swallowed thickly, wondering if her lover was going to call their bluff.

"Medical supplies?" Kallian asked, her gaze flitting to the older mage, who returned it with a sober look.

"I think it would be best if I tended Leliana's ankle," Wynne said, her voice unapologetic.

"I've learned a fair bit about healing," Kallian's voice brokered no argument. "You know which herbs will work best in the poultices, anyways. I believe I saw a patch of mushrooms a ways back. Would you mind fetching them? I'm sure Zevran would be happy to lend you support."

"Ah, but I can think of so many ways to offer my assistance," Zevran rose cheerfully to his feet. Wynne and Kallian studied each other for a long while before the mage canted her head, granting this round to the younger woman. She rose, quickly moving to gather a small satchel. The pair disappeared into the cavern.

Kallian watched them go, staring at the empty space in silence for a moment before she rose to her feet, collapsing on a boulder with a large sigh. The elf waited until the others were out of earshot, then turned and regarded the bard with a raised eyebrow.

Leliana returned her lover's stare evenly, offering no apology in her eyes. She had not expected Kallian believe the deception for long, but the bard had done what she thought necessary in the group's best interest.

The two pairs of eyes regarded each other in silent challenge, and after a moment, Kallian smirked, her expression softening as she regarded the bard with amusement. "I can't believe you managed to fool Alistair with that act – I could see Wynne's lips moving from clear across the cavern."

Leliana snorted, though she breathed an inward sigh of relief that her lover was not upset. "She was facing away from Alistair at the time – besides, he wouldn't believe Wynne could be that devious – he treats her like his grandmother."

The elf rolled her eyes, reaching upwards with gloved hands as she pulled her helmet off her sweaty forehead. "A simple 'Please, could you stop' would have sufficed."

"No it wouldn't have," the bard scowled. "We've been walking for days – with only a few hours respite. Even Sten is tired. We need a break. We can't continue at this pace."

Kallian let out a sigh, dropping her elbows onto her knees. "I know," the elf admitted. "But – you saw her. You saw the army. It's huge." The Warden glanced up at the Orlesian with worried eyes. "How are we supposed to win against that? Even with Harrowmont's support, they'll outnumber us thirty to one."

Leliana brushed her fingers against the back of the younger woman's cheek. "We'll find a way, love. But we will do it together, and on a full night's rest, I'm sure."

Kallian leaned into the touch, accepting the affections eagerly, brushing her lips against Leliana's fingertips before she withdrew. She grinned wickedly at the bard. "I suppose you're right. However, since you cannot help set up the tents in your _condition_," The elf's grin grew even wider, "I suppose you'll have to take charge of cooking whatever Sten brings us for dinner."

"What?"

* * *

You know, I still haven't forgiven you for making me handle those dreadful lizards Sten brought home for dinner. They smelled terrible, and even though he'd taken the heads off the wretched creatures, they twitched every time I touched them. Alistair and Oghren were positively rolling on the cavern floor in laughter every time I jumped in reaction.

They didn't laugh long, I suppose. The look on Morrigan's face when I handed her a bowl of the stew was positively priceless. Even Fynn looked a little disgusted at the treat.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, however. And the expression on your face when I handed you your portion of the stew – complete with floating eyeballs – made it all worthwhile, in the end.


	12. Captured

Author's Notes: This chapter contains a trigger alert.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Captured**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Into the darkest of hearts we went,  
To learn of a Paragon's greatest lament.  
Truth revealed of Caradin's dark fate.  
And though Branka offered tempting bait**

**We chose to side with the great Caradin**  
**And to put an end to his greatest of sins.**  
**He made us a crown with the finest of gleams**  
**For the next in the line of Orzammar's kings.**

**But Prince Bhelen did protest Caradin's choice**  
**And we were forced to silence his voice.**  
**Dwarven allies in hand to Denerim we went**  
**To Landsmeet to challenge both Queen and Regent.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The crack of the braided leather through the air was her only warning.

Kallian closed her eyes tightly, clenching her teeth, unwilling to give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing her cry out at the excruciating pain that would follow.

The lash fell upon others – long lines of broken, bloody flesh that throbbed with agony every time she breathed. The elf bit her lip until it bled, trying to distance herself from the pain. Maker, this was incredible. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for relief, and only her newly acquired discipline kept her from crying out.

Damn Anora. Damn all of the nobles and their political games. How could she have been so blind? Not only was she stupid enough to believe Erlina, but she had also walked straight into Loghain's trap. Had Anora really even been a prisoner, or was everything that wretched handmaiden said a lie? The regent had probably set this whole thing up to silence Howe, removing yet another obstacle in his path to seizing full control of Ferelden.

Or perhaps it had been Anora's idea. The queen had been a little too happy at the news of the Arl's death. No doubt there was no love lost there. And the Wardens were the greatest threat to Anora's rule.

How could she have been so stupid?

Another stab of pain. This time she could not restrain herself, a low groan escaping her lips.

"Enough!" Kallian breathed a sigh of relief at the guard captain's command, using the small reprieve to wipe her forehead against her restrained arms. Not long after her arrest she had been brought here, deep within the dungeons of Fort Drakon, and manacled to a tall whipping post in the corner of the room. The chains had been made for a human, however, and she had been forced to stand on her tiptoes to avoid her arms being wrenched from their sockets.

"The Teyrn wishes the Landsmeet to see how fairly the Grey Warden is being treated – despite the fact she murdered our king and attempted to kidnap our queen."

The jailor spat on the ground, wiping the back of his palm against his dirt-streaked, sweaty forehead. He clenched the handle of a long bullwhip in his other hand. When he grinned, he displayed a mouthful of yellowed, half-rotten teeth – a grin that he leveled at the guard captain now, his eyes squinting with dark delight. "She won't be able to tell 'em anything if we cut out 'er tongue."

_Maker help me._

"Be that as it may," the guard captain studied his subordinate uneasily. Where did they get this latest batch of recruits? "I would prefer her to have a separate cell – away from the riffraff, if you would. And no visible injuries – we can't have the Teyrn's prize soiled before his big day."

Kallian prayed silently that they would not become more inventive in their methods of torture.

"You have your orders," the captain repeated, his eyes brokering no dissent. "Keep her in a separate cell. Better yet, house her with the nobles. I don't want her in with the general population."

"She's a knife ear, ser," the jailor protested. "The others will think we gave her special protection."

A long sigh. "Just do as I say," the captain's voice was irritated now, rubbing the bridge of his nose with pinched fingers. "I want no mistakes. I do not want a repeat over that alienage incident. We're already in enough trouble for that one."

_By the gods... Shianni. Father. Soris. What had happened?_

"Understood, ser." After a short pause, one set of footsteps left the room. Another long moment, and a second pair made their way to her. A large body pressed against her back, the chainmail dragging wickedly against Kallian's torn flesh. The elf winced at the pain and the overwhelming stench of an unwashed body. The smell mingled with the saltiness of sweat and the tanginess of blood.

"You may be safe for now, you little knife-eared cunt," the guard whispered, his fetid breath causing Kallian to dry-retch in disgust. A rough hand slid up her back, tangling in her hair and wrenching her head back. Kallian winced at the pain, another whimper issued when his tongue dragged along her neck. "But see, it only takes a few silver to the evening guard to look the other way, and since you'll be housed with your betters, you'll be far enough away that no one will be able to hear your screams."

His free hand dropped, cupping her naked breast, and Kallian's breath caught in her throat, her eyes closing tight at the rough fondling.

_Leli, please forgive me. I do not want this._

"My brother was a guard at the Arl's estate, you little whore," the guard hissed, grinding his hips against her, drawing another whimper of pain from the elf. "And I swore to the Maker that I would get my revenge on the little bitch that killed him. And now here you are – delivered to me by the Maker himself."

Kallian closed her eyes. Once more Shianni's face stared back at her. But this time, Shianni stood proud, the fire in her eyes still strong. This was the cousin who had kissed her cheek and bidden her to go with Duncan. Who had refused to submit, to be broken, even after she had lost everything.

_Make us proud, cousin._

Kallian clenched her teeth together, steeling herself with new resolve. _You always thought I was the strong one, Shianni. But you taught me that true strength comes from within. _

She would not let these humans see her defeated. The others would come – Leli, Sten, Morrigan, Wynne, and the others. And when they did, she would be ready to fight.

_I will be strong for you, Shianni. For Leli. I will not let them break me. This I swear to you._

Sensing the sudden change in demeanor from his captive, the young guard drew back, irritated. With a gauntleted fist he punched her twice. The first blow landed off-center against her back, catching her kidneys and drawing a started gasp from the elf. The second hit her side, a loud pop echoing through the room as Kallian's rib snapped. The Warden bit down on her lip so hard it bled in an effort to keep from crying out.

Gathering what little moisture remained in her mouth, she spat, smiling in grim determination as the blood-flecked liquid caught the jailor across his face.

She did not feel the back of his hand as it impacted her face, nor the rest of the remaining blows. Surrendering to the pain, she embraced the waiting darkness.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

It was hours before she awoke, her very first sensation one of unrelenting agony.

The pain was sharp, biting, the pain of broken bones and torn ligaments. It was deep and aching, the pain of abused muscles and joints. It was dull and it was throbbing. After nearly a year on the road, battling the Darkspawn and the Blight, Kallian thought she knew pain fairly well.

But she was wrong, terribly wrong.

Kallian slowly squinted one eye open, and then the other. Her first thought was that she was dying. And she probably was. Her skin felt moist and clammy, and she was shivering quite involuntarily. Her forehead felt clammy and her palms were moist with either sweat or blood.

The elf was no stranger to sickness, having grown up in the alienage, and she was well aware that it was often not one's injuries that killed, but the infection that set in afterwards. Here now, lying on the cold unyielding stone, Kallian was acutely aware of just how much she'd come to rely on Wynne's and even Morrigan's talents as a healer.

It took an even greater amount of fortitude to roll herself over, pushing to her wobbly knees as she tried to focus her mind, though it was not easy with her ringing ears and her throbbing head. Her stomach lurched at the site of the nearly solid mass of bruises that marred every inch of her torso.

She was wearing only the barest of prison cloths, all her weapons and armor having been confiscated upon her surrender to Ser Cauthrien. The rags were dirty and smelled faintly of sweat and vomit, or was that the cell? It was hard to decide. Her bruises seemed pretty limited to the areas that her armor would cover, though how the guard had managed to restrain himself from damaging her even more, the Warden had no idea.

Kallian closed her eyes, assessing her own injuries. Every time she breathed, her ribs sent a sharp, shooting pain through her spine to her head. Definitely broken, the elf noted grimly, bile rising in her throat. She spit, wincing at the small amount of blood that was present. Internal injuries.

Her arms were shaking from the effort of holding her body aloft, and Kallian roughly rolled over onto her back, a low moan escaping her throat as the pain in her arms made itself known. Not dislocated, but very strained. Hesitating, the Warden wiggled her toes, relieved to see the guard had stayed away from damaging her spine.

The lack of any pain between her legs led her to believe the guard had at least restrained from raping her downstairs, but that would not last long. He would be back – of this she was certain.

How long had she been unconscious? Just how much time did she have? Examining her surroundings, Kallian noted the lone guard standing watch in the corner. One guard, which meant that it was the night watch. There were no other prisoners in the cells with her, but then again, she had not expected there to be. Rarely did human nobles do anything to warrant being locked up.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her status as a Grey Warden warranted the personal guard.

Her hopes shattered, however, when her assailant from before entered, turning and pinning the Warden with a beady stare before meandering his way to his comrade in the corner.

Frantically, Kallian looked around for something, anything, she could turn into a weapon. She was determined to defend herself, even though there was nothing of use in her cell, save a small wooden bowl in the corner. Not even a chamber pot. Maybe the wooden bowl was the chamber thought. Kallian shuddered at the thought.

The guards were arguing now and Kallian grimaced, trying to use the wall as a brace to rise to her feet, collapsing almost immediately, gasping for breath. It was no use – her injuries were too severe. There was no way she would be able to fend the guard off.

"A candlemark," the main guardsman warned, pocketing the silver Detrick had slipped him. His job paid poorly, and even the few extra bits he'd earned for the night watch could not cover the cost of all the hungry mouths he had to feed. "I will be outside the door."

Detrick waved him away dismissively, and the guard left, trying to erase from his mind the half-mad expression he'd seen in the other man's eyes.

Kallian looked up at him, her stomach sinking as he strode to her cell door, knowing she would be powerless to stop him. Glaring defiantly at the man, she refused to shirk away, determined that she would not grant this bastard the dignity of hearing her cry out.

Detrick regarded his prey hungrily, his dark eyes greedily taking in the site of the scantily clad elf, feeling his own arousal grow at the sensation of pure helplessness of his victim. He fumbled momentarily with the key to the cell, but eventually unlocked it and made his way to the prisoner's side, feeling his anger swell. This knife-ear bitch had gutted his brother, and he was determined to see her pay.

The elf did not meet his own hard look as he stopped a few inches in front of her, her own stony expression pinned at some place beyond his head. For some reason, this made Detrick even angrier, and he lashed out with his foot, catching the Warden squarely in the side and sending her sprawling.

She should have screamed. She should have cried out. She should be begging for her miserable little life. Instead, nothing. No whimper left her lips, though she had to be in extraordinary pain. Not even a single tear.

Angry, Detrick rolled the young woman over, grabbing at the rough spun clothes that protected her modesty.

He would make her pay. He would see her cry out before this night was over.

So focused was he on his anger and his rage that he missed the dagger had been flung expertly through the air, lodging itself into his back before he could draw breath.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana was getting desperate. It had been far too much time since Kallian's capture by Cauthrien. The others had forced her to wait until nightfall; appealing to her knowledge of stealth and tactics, bidding her to use caution though every bone in her body screamed for quick action. After direct appeals from Alistair and Wynne had not worked, a stern lecture from Morrigan regarding the Warden's prospect for survival should they fail had finally silenced the bard.

And now they were close, having slipped through the prison ranks with ease at subterfuge that was nearly worthy of a ballad. The guards had too easily accepted the story of a pair of Chantry sisters, allowing Leliana and Wynne to slip easily past the outer defenses of the fortress. Alistair, who'd insisted upon coming despite all of Arl Eamon's protests, had fit easily into the roll of Templar, escorting the sisters past the main gates.

They'd not had to maintain the ruse long, sneaking up behind a trio of unaware guards had yielded them three sets of armor, and now they moved freely through the palace. Wynne's staff had to be left behind. But it would have been too conspicuous, and the risk of going without a mage had seemed too great.

Leliana whispered a prayer that Wynne's talents would not be needed.

The trio had made their way through the fort unmolested until they had approached the main prison block.

"Prison's off limits," the guard said, "by orders of the Teyrn."

But the way the guard's eyes shifted nervously had aroused the bard's suspicions, and with nary a word she maneuvered her way alongside the taller man before pinning him face-first against the wall, the tip of her dagger at his throat.

"What's going on?" Leliana asked quietly, ignoring the fact that she'd just blown their cover, much to the chagrin of her friends, who shook their heads in disbelief.

"'ey! I dunno wha' yer ta..." the guard began, wincing as the tip of the dagger nicked his flesh, drawing blood. They didn't pay him enough for this. Whoever this woman was, she was not to be messed with. The guard gulped at the dangerous look in her eyes.

"Detrick came up to me, ya see, and he says he wants some time with the knife ear," the guard stammered, not missing the cold, calculating gaze of the woman. The redhead's face went ashen, a look of pain flickering across her features. "'e jus' went in there, 'e did, 'bout five minutes ag..."

Leliana didn't wait to hear the rest of the man's story; nor did she turn around at the sound of Alistair's heavily armored fist rendering him unconscious. She flung open the door to the main cellblock, racing inside with Wynne and Alistair at her heels. She saw him there; a short, rather rotund man with thick black hair and a dark, angry expression, struggling with the scant bindings covering her lover's body.

Without much forethought, the bard flung her knife, the tip of the blade easily penetrating the guard's cured leather armor, expertly piercing both flesh and lung, and drawing a startled gurgle from the would-be rapist. Leliana covered the space quickly, pushing the larger man aside into Alistair's waiting arms. The Templar grimly pinned the guard against the bars of the cell, his arms shaking in barely restrained outrage as he glanced worriedly towards his fellow Warden.

Leliana let out a small cry at the mass of contusions that was her lover. The elf was an ugly, mottled purple from the neck down. All around her ribs, the bruises had a particularly frightening look, the color stretching to her knees. Kallian's eyes were distant, unfocused. The bard choked back a sob as she cradled her lover's broken form. With one hand, she reached up, tracing the backs of her fingertips across the Warden's face.

"Kallian." The name barely made it past her lips before she dissolved into tears. Leliana cradled her lover's body to her chest, rocking back and forth as she buried her face in the sweat-soaked tresses.

Wynne knelt beside the bard, her own features stoic, but as the bard looked up to meet the older woman's gaze, Leliana could see behind the mask – carefully bottled rage intermingled with fear and deep sorrow. The mage placed a hand on the elf's dirt-streaked forehead, quietly assessing the damage.

She inhaled sharply, her gaze meeting the bard's own worried expression. "The injuries are very extensive. I can make it safe to move her, but we need to get back to the estate, and quickly." Wynne's lips pursed together grimly. "I'll have to wait until we're there before I can fully assess the nature of her internal injuries."

Wynne's hands began to move in healing circles over the elf, murmuring the chants and the incantations to help knit together the Warden's damaged bones.

"I'll carry her," Alistair's voice was grim. "Just as soon as I finish taking out the trash." He pinned his captive with a dangerous glare.

Leliana's lip twitched, glancing dismissively to the ashen-faced guard, whose wheezing breaths echoed unusually loud against the cinderblock walls of the cell. If Kallian died, she would make sure his final moments were exquisitely painful, filled with the most terrible agonies she could possibly muster.

The bundle in her arms stirred. With a startled inhale, Leliana glanced down, staring into the most beautiful sight in the world.

Bright green eyes, the color of uncut emeralds, met her own, filled with an expression of such love and devotion that it nearly broke her heart.

"Leli..."

She sobbed at the sound of Kallian's voice, still very much weakened, but filled with quiet wonder and incredulity. The bard leaned down, brushing her lips against the Warden's, careful not to shift too much lest she aggravate the wounds.

"I am here, love." She whispered, laughter erupting at the relief in Kallian's eyes. The Warden hesitated, reaching up a single finger to touch Leliana's lips, before turning her focus to Wynne.

"Ribs," she managed to get out, the very act of speaking causing her incredible pain. Wynne gave the elf a tight nod.

"Setting it right now," Wynne muttered, pinning the younger with a reproving glare, though it gave the mage no small amount of relief to see her charge in such spirits. "It came very near close to puncturing your lung."

Leliana scowled at their captive guard, and then her eyes sought Alistair's, who nodded grimly. A quick snap of his arms, and then it was all over.

"Alistair!" Wynne scolded, her distaste for what he'd done warring with her own desire for retribution.

"Sorry," Alistair shrugged, not at all apologetic. "My grip slipped."

"He was very near death anyways," Leliana's calming voice attempted to soothe ruffled feathers. "My aim was true. The dagger pierced his lung. " Wynne held her gaze for a moment before dipping her head in acknowledgement. Under her breath, she added, "'Twas a far cleaner death than he deserved."

Wynne shook her head mildly in rebuke, returning her full attentions to the task on hand. After several long minutes, the healer finally spoke, her face weary from the exertion. "I've done all I can. We need to get her back to Arl Eamon's estate."

The others nodded, and Alistair slipped seamlessly beside Leliana. The Templar slid one arm underneath Kallian's knees, and a second behind her back, treating the other Warden as delicately as a babe. Slowly, the he rose to his feet, an action that drew another whimper of pain from the elf.

Leliana could see Alistair's jaw set, the flash of pain across his features at the sound of Kallian's distress. It mirrored her own, the bard thought forlornly, her gaze drifting down to her outstretched hands.

They were covered in blood.

* * *

That day was among the darkest I can recall since my capture by the Orlesian guards. I was so furious at how you had offered yourself up in exchange for our release. And I was so frightened of the guards and what I was certain of what would happen to you if you lingered in their possession too long.

Alistair and Anora argued bitterly over your rescue. Anora wanted to wait until after the Landsmeet to secure your freedom, while Alistair was ready to storm the gates of Fort Drakon, swords blazing.

It was actually Morrigan who had offered the tactical plan – one that worked beyond my wildest expectations. When we got back, Alistair surprised us all by giving her biggest hug you could have possibly imagined. Even the normally taciturn Sten had to smile at that one. Not to be outdone, Morrigan sent a lightning bolt towards his back end, threatening to turn him into a toad. Still, the witch had looked pleased with herself.

I think that, despite the cool and aloof exterior, Morrigan truly cared about your well-being. I suppose that's why her betrayal surprised us all.


	13. Ambitions

**Chapter 12: Ambitions**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**To Denerim and Landsmeet would soon sound the call  
The fate of Ferelden decided once and for all.  
Though before we could marshall forces against the Blight  
We soon learned of our queen's fervent plight.**

**Anora, our queen, was imprisoned – in chains**  
**With none other than the great Arl Howe to blame.**  
**To rescue our queen was the only choice**  
**For at the Landsmeet we needed her voice.**

**We slew Denerim's arl – no easy feat**  
**But in our victory we would soon learn defeat.**  
**For word of our task reached the ears of Loghain**  
**And once more the great Warden assumed all the blame.**

**And so we three went – bastard prince, rogue and mage**  
**To rescue the Warden from confinement and cage.**  
**Then retreated did we behind Eamon's wall**  
**Before an alarm the Teyrn's men could call.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Alistair paced along the corridor, lines of frustration and worry carved into his face. It was still early yet, and the halls were nearly empty, save for the occasional guard, who invariably came to attention when Alistair passed.

He ignored them all.

He had never asked to be in charge. He hated the thought of having that much responsibility placed on his shoulders. But it had all gone terribly wrong. Now, with Kallian indisposed and Riordan still recovering from his long imprisonment, people were looking to him for guidance. They wanted _him_to make a decision on what to do next! The one who took an hour to decide which boot to tie first. Okay, so he wasn't that bad, but still!

He had never been allowed to choose his own path. As the king's bastard son, his life had been defined by other people making those decisions for him. From who would raise him to where he would live, even his chosen career path – these answers all been decided for him long ago. And he had gotten very good at letting other people make those choices, accepting in good nature that things, somehow, would eventually work out.

Even Duncan had been forced to conscript him into the Grey Wardens, leaving his fate effectively out of his hands. Though of course he did not blame his mentor for that – Duncan was as close to a father as he'd ever had. And he was grateful that the Grey Wardens had spared him the fate of being a full Templar. At the very least, dying in glorious battle against the Darkspawn was infinitely preferable to spending one's last days as a blubbering idiot and having one's diapers changed by a well-meaning Chantry sister.

But that was all old news. Things were very different now. With Duncan gone and the Grey Wardens dead, fate had once more chosen his path. And now, it seemed as though it would lead him to a very unwelcome outcome, if Arl Eamon had his way.

_And they want me to be King. The bastard son of Maric – the next King of Ferelden!_

Alistair really did not want to be a ruler. Kings were supposed to be stuffy and pretentious. He didn't do stuffy very well – and he highly doubted the Ferelden nobles would appreciate him making jokes at inopportune times. And he would never have any privacy. Someone would be always watching him, judging him, waiting for him to make a mistake. It would be like the Chantry all over again. And they'd expect him to make decisions, important ones, not like deciding whether or not to reuse his socks from the day before. Life and death decisions.

No way. He was not going to let them force this upon him.

As he passed in front of the door, Alistair slowed down, eyeing the heavy iron ring with some trepidation. This was the room that Morrigan and Wynne had spent half the night healing Kallian's broken body.

A surge of anger washed over him. Loghain's men had nearly killed her and would have done worse, if they hadn't stormed the room just in the nick of time. Alistair shuddered at that thought. There had been rumors, many rumors, about certain Templars who engaged in such acts, especially among those assigned directly to the Circle Tower. Alistair had never witnessed it personally, but it wasn't too much of a stretch, given the caliber of the recruits in his own Templar class.

Alistair had never quite understood it. The Revered Mother had drilled into the young initiates the importance of upholding the highest standards of honor and decorum. Such lectures were always accompanied by veiled threats of eternal damnation, brimstone, and hellfire. It all sounded very uncomfortable, and that had been enough to convince Alistair that he should avoid that sort of conduct. But Loghain…he knew everything that happened in this city (except apparently, when the Grey Wardens were traipsing around – a small but fortunate oversight). That he would sanction such an act only further proved that he was unworthy of the title Regent.

It would give Alistair great pleasure to bury his sword in the traitor's chest, when the time came.

He realized he was standing in front of the door still, and after a moment's hesitation, he pushed it open a crack, peering inside with curiosity.

There they were, curled up together on the bed. Perfectly decent of course – Leliana still wore her shift from the previous eve and Kallian's entire torso was bound tightly with poultice-soaked cloths. The two were resting, the Templar noted, with the bard tucked against Kallian's side, with the Warden's arm wrapped around her charge protectively.

It was a bittersweet feeling. Would things have been different if he acted sooner? Perhaps if he had not been so quick to shrug off responsibility – to turn everything into a joke. Would Kallian have loved him if he'd been more decisive, more confident? One quick look at the pair and Alistair shook his head. Likely, things would have turned out exactly as they did. He had never seen two people more suited to each other.

That he was able to think about it without any amount of jealousy was surprising. At first, he had been heartbroken. After all, if the two most available women in the camp did not want him, what women would? And Morrigan's gloating had not helped the matter. But now, when he saw them, it was different. His heart lifted a little. Oddly enough, it was like seeing them together gave him hope that things were going to be all right.

Maybe he really was growing up. Wynne would be so proud.

He and Kallian would have never truly worked out – not in the way Alistair would have wanted it to. Though they shared the ties of being the last Warden survivors of Ostagar, the truth was that she was more like a sister to him – his best friend. And the elf, though she had been initially leery of the Alistair, had never shown a desire to escalate their friendship. Wary distrust had given away to comfortable camaraderie, an easy banter that had reminded Alistair a lot of his time with the Wardens.

Alistair blushed, remembering how poorly his awkward courting had been received by a flustered Kallian. He wished he would have paid more attention to the little signs – the furtive looks the elf and the bard traded across the campfire – the way she had conveniently arranged the night watch so that she and Leliana shared more shifts. Even when they were neck-deep in battle against the Darkspawn, Kallian knew – somehow – exactly where Leliana was at all times.

It would have taken a blind man to miss the deeper meaning behind such simple acts. But was his relative inexperience that had led him to believe the occasional trinket that showed up on his bedroll meant more than the others. And Maker, he had treated the bard so poorly after he learned the truth about their relationship.

Alistair shuddered the memory of the argument he'd had with Kallian over the whole ordeal. She had been so furious she'd nearly refused to allow him the opportunity accompany her into the Brecilian forest. He had felt so badly – he'd even volunteered to remain behind as guard for Leliana and Aneirin while Kallian finished the search for Witherfang. The moments he had spent with the bard, protecting her from further attacks had been the start of a truce between them. That truce had eventually turned to genuine friendship during the long, arduous journey into the Deep Roads.

After her lover's capture, Leliana had made it pointedly clear that she wouldn't wait another second on Kallian's rescue. Alistair had been among the first to volunteer, despite Arl Eamon's protests to the contrary. The look of sheer gratitude in the bard's eyes spoke volumes.

Alistair's blood still boiled at the thought of the injuries his friend had sustained. It had felt ridiculously good to snap that guard's neck with his own hands. And the man should have counted himself fortunate the full extent of Kallian's injuries had not been determined – or he might have taken his time in the matter.

It was a decidedly un-Alistair like thought, and the Templar shoved it from his mind. The experience with Goldanna had changed him, and the Warden was still unsure he liked this new, colder side of himself.

Then again, maybe he had finally grown up.

Leliana's pale blue eyes opened, focusing on the intruder. Her right hand, which had been firmly wrapped around Kallian's torso, relaxed, and with a nod she welcomed him in.

Alistair made his way to the bedside, focusing on the elf, allowing for only a moment the sweet pain of loss to wash over him. He brought his gaze up to meet Leliana's, who was studying him, her eyes deeply troubled.

Quietly, Alistair asked, "Will she be all right?"

The bard hesitated for a moment before seamlessly withdrawing her arm from around her lover. Kallian whimpered a bit and shifted, but remained asleep. Leliana slipped out of the bed, crossing the room to Alistair's side.

"They were able to heal her internal injuries," her voice was low. "But they couldn't remove all the scars from her back. " The bard's hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes filling with silent tears. After a brief pause, Alistair cautiously wrapped his arms around the bard. He had seen the scars, remembered them vividly.

Leliana had excused herself quickly once she'd seen the injuries, fleeing to the nearest washroom. It had confused the Templar, who was much more concerned about the internal injuries that arose from Kallian's torture, like the broken ribs, the bruised organs. A few surface scratches seemed almost paltry.

Alistair patted Leliana's back awkwardly, his mind racing as he struggled to understand why the bard could be so upset. A few scars were nothing to worry about – Maker, he knew for a fact Kallian had received worse from the Darkspawn. The fight with Flemeth had nearly killed her, in fact.

So why was Leliana so upset?

Unless there was something else. An uneasy feeling gnawed on the pit of his stomach, and Alistair glanced cautiously over to the sleeping Warden. "But I thought...he didn't... He couldn't have..." the former Templar stepped back, lifting Leliana's chin so the bard could meet his gaze. "He didn't ... touch her? Did he? I mean, she was still dressed!" This last sentence was spoken a bit louder than he intended.

Still, the thought of someone touching her – of violating her – sent his insides roiling.

The bard's head shook violently. "No, thank the Maker. I just..." Her voice cracked, and she shook her head once more. "I... Please excuse me." And with that, she maneuvered out of Alistair's arms and fled the room.

He watched her leave in stunned silence, wondering exactly what he had said to upset the bard. At least one thing would never change. He would never understand women.

"You'll have to give her a moment," came a tired voice, and Alistair turned, both surprised and relieved to see Kallian watching him wearily. The elf beckoned him closer, Alistair crossed the room, wrapping his hand around her smaller one.

She gave the proffered hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for coming to my rescue." Her voice was still weak, strained. "Leliana told me about what you did."

"Well, I couldn't let you get out of our little date with the Archdemon," Alistair quipped, slipping into the easy banter that had been a hallmark of their friendship. "Bessie has been talking about it for months, you know. She even bought a new pair of shoes for the occasion."

It had been Alistair's idea to name the Archdemon – as if it somehow gave their nightmares less potency. The two Wardens had spent half the night in helpless giggles as they went over the options, each one more outlandish than the last. They had tossed names back and forth, before finally setting on "Bessie."

Kallian couldn't help but laugh, wincing at the soreness in her ribs_._She grimaced as she rose onto her elbows, an act that stretched newly healed flesh. She raised her eyes, meeting Alistair's worried expression, and forced herself to grin. "Told you all that, did she?" Kallian asked, resting her back against the headboard, her shoulders finally relaxing.

Alistair's lips curled into a wry grin, relieved to see his friend had retained a sense of humor. "Oh yes," he quipped. "She's been talking about it for months. She has a new blonde wig and even bought a pretty new dress. A big poofy one. It's the latest in Orlesian fashions, you know."

At this, Kallian couldn't help but giggle, both Wardens giving in to the laughter until the tears rolled down their cheeks. "Thank you for that," the elf said sometime later, wiping off her face with the back of her hand. "I needed that."

"I know I did," Alistair grinned, his smile eventually giving way to a more subdued expression. "But seriously, how are you feeling?"

"Sore," Kallian admitted. "But not too bad. Wynne and Morrigan know their trade."

Alistair nodded, hesitating about how much he should tell her. Did she remember much about her time in captivity, or had she blocked out the worst of it? "Do you know why Leliana was so upset? She was in the middle of telling me how you were when she just... ran off."

Kallian sighed, her eyes drifting over to a nearby candle, studying its flickering flame for a long time. "It has to do with Marjolaine," the Warden said finally, knowing that Alistair had not been privy to the entire story of the bardmaster's betrayal. "And what the Chevaliers did to her afterwards."

Alistair nodded mutely. He'd been present when they confronted Leliana's former master and knew of the bard's torture at the hands of the guards, though he'd never been privy to the details.

"I... did they... Did that guard...?" Alistair stammered, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, unable to give voice to the unspoken question. Kallian shook her head fervently.

"No." She cheeks reddened as she looked away in embarrassment. "But he probably would have, if you all hadn't rescued me. He was very...angry at me."

Now it was Alistair's turn to look puzzled. "But... I don't understand. Is he mad over Ostagar? Was he even at the battle?"

Kallian looked away uncomfortably, and Alistair wondered exactly what it was she was hiding from him. She'd never really told him the whole story of how she'd came to join the Grey Wardens. Bits and pieces, sure. But everything...well, she hadn't been comfortable sharing it, and he had never pushed her for it. The truth was that it didn't matter.

Only apparently it did.

So when Kallian told him the story. Alistair listened, the expression on his face shifting between shock and awe to deep, unrelenting disgust.

"But...you were defending yourself!" Alistair squawked in protest as she told him of her near arrest at the hands of the Arl's guards. "That bastard raped your cousin and he would have raped you. You had the right to defend yourself!"

"Not in Denerim," Kallian said sadly. "Not anywhere in Thedas." At Alistair's thoughtful expression, she continued. "Alistair, elves are not considered equal to humans. We have been – always – second class citizens."

_Not...equal. Second class citizens. Is this what Ferelden has become? _

Alistair thought of all the times the elves at Arl Eamon's castle had cleaned up his messes, picked up his socks, made his bed. Never once had he heard them utter a complaint, but never could he remember Isolde, or Eamon, for that matter, thanking them for their service.

It was expected – Alistair realized bitterly. Elves were expected to do the work, just as human servants did. But they were paid much less and treated far more harshly than any human.

_Not any more, _Alistair thought grimly, his jaw setting with a stubborn determination. Behind him, the door opened, and Leliana stepped inside the room, her face freshly scrubbed, looking contrite. Fynn stood alongside her, ears perked forward and attentive. His back end was wagging happily in time with his tail, excited to see his mistress.

"If you'll excuse me," Alistair said, giving Kallian's hand a warm squeeze as he pushed to his feet. He strode past Leliana, nodding politely to the bard, who blushed as Alistair left.

The Warden continued to walk, making his way to Arl Eamon's office, where the Arl was presently engrossed in a deep conversation with the captain of his guard and Riordan.

"Alistair, you should hear this," Arl Eamon beckoned him to come closer, but Alistair shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I have something to say." _Maker, I hope I know what I'm doing._

Arl Eamon let out a sigh, weary of the argument he knew was to follow. "Alistair, for the last time, Anora is not..."

"I'll do it," the Warden said loudly, the force of his words cutting off all further conversation. All three men looked at Alistair – Arl Eamon in shock, Riordan with concern, and the captain with pride.

"I will do it," Alistair repeated, his gaze leveling on Arl Eamon's, a grim smile on his face. "I will become Ferelden's next king."

_And I will make things change._

* * *

Zevran came by today. He told me the offices of the Divine are in an uproar, and rumors are muttered in the darker corners of taverns. Rumors of rebellion and war. It worries him – I think he feels he must remain close to Alistair, if only to protect him from himself and the assassins he believes are soon to follow.

I hope there is not another war. Ferelden is too soon in its recovery from the Blight and another war would likely destroy the land.

I think Alistair will be a good king, a fair king, given a chance. Wynne tells me that he spends hours in the library, immersed in the old laws. She tells me that his proclamations are so cleverly worded that not even the courts can find fault with his logic and reasoning.

She worries still, that he is trying to do too much too soon. But I can hear the pride in her voice when she talks of his actions. She is proud of him. As we all are.

I think you would be proud of him too.


	14. Reunions

**Chapter 13: Reunions**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**To Denerim's alienage we journeyed next**  
**To find the residents sorely vexed.**  
**For many among them had taken ill**  
**And soon the hospice beds would fill.**

**Help came to the elves by way of some mages.  
But instead of salvation there await only cages.  
For on the orders of Howe and Loghain  
Many an elf were enslaved or were slain.**

**Here entered the Warden to set all things right**  
**Falling furiously on mages who offered small fight,**  
**Sent the slavers fleeing back to their lands**  
**Their leader she slew with her own two hands.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The moon hung low in the sky, barely peeking over dilapidated rooftops. A cool breeze swept across the broken cobblestones, bringing with it a small shiver to the figure that sat alone, her feet dangling off the edge of one of the rooftops, features bathed in the softened light.

The faint sounds of music and laughter echoed in the distance – sounds of drunken revelry and toasts to the Great Hero of Denerim who had saved their people. It was a stark contrast to the soft sobbing that could also be heard from several open windows as families mourned the loss of their loved ones.

Kallian had confiscated the slavers' registers, taking them personally off their leader's bloated corpse, and presented them to Alistair. The names of those who had been taken, including Valendrian, had all been neatly detailed. While it would likely be impossible to track the fate of every elf sold on the Tevinter markets, perhaps some might be found, brought home, and reunited with their families.

Too many had been taken though – dozens of able-bodied young men and women had been found to be ill by the Tevinter slavers and were subsequently "quarantined." Kallian shuddered when she thought of how close she came to losing both Soris and Shianni – for according to the mages, both had already begun to show signs of the mysterious disease – a disease which proved to be nothing more than a simple additive to the drinking water.

Her eyes began to water, and she blinked hard, the crushing weight of responsibility pressing firmly on her chest. After she had been conscripted by Duncan and departed for Ostagar, there had been a backlash against the Alienage for her wholesale slaughter of Bann Vaughan's men. Several elves had been taken, none of who were responsible for the original crime, and executed very publicly on the village square. This prompted a riot, which lasted until Teyrn Loghain assumed the role of regent and his men stopped the fighting. As punishment, the Alienage was quarantined. No food was allowed in or out, forcing the inhabitants to beg, borrow, or steal what they could. As their meager supplies dwindled, sickness set in, and with sickness came death.

Valendrian had no choice but to allow help from the Tevinter mages, who brought with them food, water, but most of all a cure for the illness that had been plaguing the alienage. For a while, it had seemed their lot had improved. Then some individuals – oddly enough, those who had been mostly unaffected by the original plague that had claimed so many lives in the alienage, mysteriously became sick. Fearing a recurrence of the original plague, these elves were placed into isolation, presumably to be cared for by the mages.

Only they never returned.

A familiar hand came to rest on her shoulder, and Kallian hastily swiped at her eyes before meeting her cousin's concerned expression.

"You couldn't have done anything," Shianni's own ears twitched in sympathy as she sat down next to the Warden.

"I could have been here," Kallian's face clouded with anger. "I _should _have been here."

"And then you would have been executed for sure," Shianni's voice was barely audible. "And no one would have been able to save us. Eventually we all would have been sold. Soris and Cyrion would have been sent to the mines, and I would have probably ended up in some Antivan brothel." The thought brought back ugly memories, drawing an involuntarily shudder from the elf.

"You don't understand," Kallian crossed her arms over her chest, as if by hugging herself she could form a barrier against all of the demons of her past. "I should have stayed and taken responsibility. It was my fault, mine alone, that this all happened."

"If you want to follow that line of reasoning, cousin," Shianni couldn't keep the bitterness out of her own response, "it was my fault. I am the one who broke that jug over the bastard shem's head."

"No." Kallian's hand latched onto her wrist with surprising force, and Shianni grimaced, the urge to rip her hand away barely overruled by the knowledge that this was _Kallian _touching her.

_Breathe, Shianni._ The young elf drew several deep breaths, forcibly slowing her breathing until the waves of fear and uncertainty had passed. The grip on her wrist suddenly withdrew, and eventually, she was able to turn her head and meet her cousin's puzzled expression.

"Sorry," Shianni whispered. "I...get nightmares, sometimes."

Kallian's eyes clouded, the Warden swallowing several times before she could find her voice. "What that shem did to you is not your fault, Shianni. It was never your fault."

"And it's not your fault either, cousin," Shianni argued, her hands gripping Kallian's shoulders and squeezing them lightly, drawing a surprised intake of breath from the other elf. "If you hadn't come for me, I'd be dead. You saved me, Kallian. You saved all of us."

The Warden's mouth opened to utter a protest, but Shianni pressed a finger to her lips, shaking her head lightly. The two women stared at each other for a small eternity. There had not been time for long goodbyes when her cousin left – only hastily murmured apologizes and promises before Duncan had carted her away.

"Not one of us has stood up for our rights in so long I think we'd almost forgotten how," Shianni admitted quietly. Ignoring Kallian's initial protest, she continued. "We were so used to being treated like animals that we almost forgot what it meant to be command respect. You taught us to stand up for ourselves, Kallian. You gave us courage, and hope, and the will to try to change things." Forcing herself to look up, Shianni was shocked to see the tears flowing freely down her cousin's cheeks.

Shianni swallowed against the lump that had formed in her own throat. "You gave us hope, cousin. And you did it again, saving us once more when we needed it most. So on behalf of us all, thank you. You are our hero." A pause. "You've always been mine."

An arm wrapped around Shianni's shoulder, drawing the younger woman close, and for awhile the two sat there in silence; the bond between them stronger than any words.

Eventually Shianni drew back, her pale gaze drifting up and down the tunic and trousers her cousin wore. "You look so – different without your armor, much less menacing."

Kallian giggled, her ears twitching with amusement. "I'm not that scary, even with my armor."

"I beg to differ," Shianni teased, enjoying her cousin squirm a little with embarrassment. "I believe that Tevinter guard nearly swallowed his tongue when you pushed her finger into his face and told him you were going in and daring him to stop you."

Kallian snorted. "He could hardly refuse with Shale holding him upside down." A long, thoughtful pause. "And my dagger _was _pressed against his stomach."

Shianni snickered. "You travel with some strange company, cousin." She paused, hesitating for a second. "I think I like them. Zevran is very funny..."

Kallian snorted, making a mental note to have a long talk with the Antivan assassin about keeping his distance from her younger cousin.

"And I guess even the shems were okay." Shianni continued cautiously, well aware she was treading on difficult territory. She searched her cousin's face for any signs. "Alistair is strange – but he seems nice, enough."

"He's been a good friend to me," Kallian admitted softly. "This whole thing wasn't easy for him. The Grey Wardens were his family, and when they died, I think it changed him forever."

Shianni nodded, knowing ears picking up on traces of sisterly affection in her cousin's words, but no more. Not Alistair. Not Zevran. Certainly can't be Shale or Sten. Shianni's nose crinkled – Oghren was out of the question. Nor Wynne – she was too old, too motherly.

"The bard," Shianni ventured cautiously, her lips quirking in a self-satisfied smirk as she watched her cousin's cheeks darken considerably. "The Orlesian – what was her name?"

"Her mother was born in Ferelden." A prickly response that came too quickly to be a simple defense of a good friend. "And her name is Leliana."

Shianni's grin widened. _Got ya, cousin. _Kallian's cheeks and ears turned the color of a ripe tomato, a scowl crossing her features when she realized she'd been caught.

"Andraste's hairy..." The Warden bit off the curse, realizing she'd been discovered. "How did you know?"

"You kept looking over at her when the crowds were pressing in," the younger elf said smugly. "You didn't like the attention, but when she came up alongside you, your whole demeanor changed. You relaxed."

Kallian scowled, embarrassed that she still could not keep any secrets from her family. Granted, Shianni wasn't so bad, but if Shianni had seen, had Soris? Had her father?

_Maker, if my father saw that..._

"Cousin?" Kallian glanced over to Shianni's worried expression. She frowned, trying to remember what the younger woman had been trying to ask her about. She had been saying something...what was it?

Shianni rolled her eyes, giving Kallian a playful nudge. "Clearly if you are speechless, then there's no need to ask."

The Warden's blush deepened, and Shianni grinned wryly, hazel eyes twinkling at the prospect of endlessly teasing her older cousin. "So is she good in...?"

"Shianni!" Kallian's exasperated voice cut her off, which of course only made Shianni's grin wider.

"Well, I guess she is pretty cute, for a shem," Shianni teased, poking the Warden in the side. "Though I still think Nelaros was..." She bit off a curse at the sudden change in the her cousin's demeanor. Kallian's expression had gone from embarrassment to true remorse.

"I..." Kallian's voice trailed off, and after a moment, Shianni rested a hand on the other woman's shoulder.

No further words were said, and the two sat together in companionable silence for a long time, until a heavier pair of footfalls caused Shianni to turn back and with wide eyes, push quickly to her feet.

"Don't forget to come see me tomorrow before the Landsmeet," Shianni said quickly, leaving before her beleaguered cousin could interject another word. Kallian looked over her shoulder, her throat suddenly going dry as her father took a seat beside her, his weathered features worn and pale. Time, it seemed, had not been nearly so kind to Cyrion.

"I...good evening," Cyrion's voice was stilted, sounding so much more weary than Kallian remembered.

"I...hello, Father." Kallian cursed the awkwardness that had developed between them, realizing sadly that she no longer really knew who this man was. He looked like her father, but the lines of age and worry had set more deeply into his features. His eyes had changed also – no longer were they full of life, but it seemed as if they carried the weight of the world and of burdens time could not erase. With Valendrian gone, Kallian realized that her father would likely have to assume the role of Hahren.

Cyrion clasped his hands together in his lap. Neither father nor daughter spoke for fear of saying the wrong thing, and so nothing was said at all, which made the situation even more disquieting. Blood and damnation. This has gone on for long enough, Kallian fumed, lifting her gaze to meet her father's. When had the man become such a stranger? What exactly was it that had driven them apart?

It was different now, Kallian realized. When she'd left the alienage she'd been but a child. Now she returned, not just as a woman but a warrior in her own right. How many tales of her exploits had reached behind the alienage walls? Not many, Kallian realized – not if the quarantine had been in place for as long as she suspected.

So the last true news her family had received was her supposed death at the battle of Ostagar. Had her father been in mourning that entire time?

"Father, I..."

"Kallian, I..."

A pause, and then nervous laughter.

"You go first," Cyrion nodded, his attentive green gaze meeting his daughter's own.

"I guess I..." Kallian stammered, cursing her sudden ineptitude for speech. "I am glad that you are still well." _Maker...is that all I can __come up with?_

"I..." Cyrion hesitated, obviously weighing his words. "I am glad to see the rumors were not true. Of Ostagar, at least."

Another long pause. "They weren't...entirely wrong." Kallian admitted. "I was injured at Ostagar, and likely would have died had it not been for Morrigan and her mother. They rescued both me and Alistair and healed our wounds."

The lines around Cyrion's mouth tightened as he pursed his lips together, weighing her words carefully. After a long moment, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Would you share the tale with me, daughter?"

Kallian gulped, the blood racing into her head at an alarming pace. Did he truly want to know of her adventures this past year? This was her father, the same man who had chastised her for all of the dagger play. This man – her father, who'd spent his entire life in one alienage or another, never wanting anything more than to be surrounded by his family and friends? What tale could she possibly tell him that wouldn't offend him, terrify him beyond his very being?

The words rushed forth, unbidden, as the story of her travels unfurled. She told him of the journey to Ostagar, the aches and pains of an untrained body adapting to life on the road. Of the constant hunger – always, it seemed, especially when game was scarce and provisions were low. She told him of the thrill of battle and of her fear of failure. Of her near defeat at the hands of her first Darkspawn, until her blade accidentally found our purchase and she realized that they could be killed. She told him of their defeat at Ostagar, the satisfaction of getting the beacon lit only to fall moments later from the poison-tipped arrows of a Genlock archer. Of the seemingly impossible task that fell before her and Alistair.

The words came, flowing faster than ever. She told him of saving Redcliffe and of her decision to trade Isolde's life for Connor's. She told him about retaking Warden's Keep, of Honnleath and her first battle against a real High Dragon in the village of Haven. She spoke of her elation at finding the Dalish and her bitter disappointment at their ambivalence. Of the impossibly tall stone walls of Orzammar and the despair of the Deep Roads. The nightmares that still plagued her of the Broodmother; and the sheer horror at the scope of the Archdemon's forces.

She spoke until her voice was hoarse and her eyes burned red from the unshed tears. She censored nothing – it would have been wrong to do so, and only when the last of her words left her lips did she allow herself a moment to evaluate her father's reaction.

Much to her shock and dismay, her father remained silent, though his face was streaked by a steady stream of tears and his hands balled tightly into fists.

She felt horrible; she truly did. But how could she lie about her experiences? He was her father, and while they had frequently disagreed about her lifestyle, never once during all her years as a child had she ever lied to him. That lesson had been impressed upon her at a very young age. To family and friends, you always speak the truth, no matter how difficult.

Still, that did not stop the pain that clenched painfully around her heart. She needed to apologize, to beg forgiveness for her lack of discretion. "Papa... I..."

"I am so proud of you, my child." Cyrion's word's cut her off, leaving the Warden speechless at the fiery expression on the older man's face. "I... your mother... she would have been so proud. I am so proud."

And she was a child again, enveloped in her father's strong arms, the smell of cedar and fresh pine a welcome reminder of the days she would sit in his shop, watching him assemble the wood with steady, patient hands, until it took final form as a table or chair. Hours she would watch him, the shapes of swirling patterns and lines forming the most intricate of carvings.

How long they remained like that she was not certain. It was only when stars had faded by the dawn's early light that Cyrion finally drew back, cupping her cheeks with calloused hands, pressing his lips against her forehead.

"I am sorry," her father's voice was hoarse, gruff. He looked at her wearily, and Kallian allowed herself to truly see him for the first time – not as a father, as a being larger than life, but as a man. "Your mother tried to tell me but I was a stubborn fool. I wanted safety and peace and the comfort of being surrounded by my grandchildren as I grew old. I should have realized how unfair it was to place all my hopes and dreams on your shoulders."

Kallian swallowed. "Papa, I..."

"Hush, daughter," a thick forefinger silenced her protests, the bright eyes filling with tears once again. "I knew you were unhappy, but I foolishly thought it would change if I could give you everything that I'd given your mother. You are so very much like her." Rough, calloused fingers trailed gently down her cheek. "But you are your own person."

"Duncan said he wanted to recruit mother into the Grey Wardens." The words rushed out before Kallian could stop them, and the Warden winced at the harshness of the words, of the accusation implied.

"I remember that," Cyrion's eyes glazed over at the memories. "It was the day of our wedding, and I was so nervous I nearly fainted dead away when your mother had told me of Duncan's offer."

"Did... Did you... I mean, did Valendrian keep her from doing it?" Kallian couldn't help herself, the question had weighed on her for so long.

"Who told you that, Kallian?" Cyrion's asked, his tone containing no anger, only curiosity.

"Duncan did," Kallian said, watching as her father's eyes flashed with indignation, and then regret.

"It is true that Valendrian was less than thrilled at your mother's proposed recruitment into the Grey Wardens, I expect the loss of her dowry didn't thrill him," Cyrion's expression darkened almost imperceptibly. "But Kallian," her father continued, "Your mother told Duncan that she wouldn't go. I even offered to return the dowry. It was your mother's decision to stay."

_She stayed... Even when she was given the choice to go... She could have seen the world... But she chose to stay._

"Why?" Kallian asked, her previous misconceptions shattering under the weight of the burden of truth. All her life, she had blamed her father, blamed Valendrian, for the sadness that had always hid behind her mother's eyes when she thought no one was looking. "But why, papa? Why was she always so sad?"

Cyrion sighed deeply, his focus turning to the horizon and the rising sun. "Your mother always said her place was here, among her people," he said softly, "just as it was yours to travel beyond these walls. She wanted more than anything to see us cast off our final trappings of slavery. She dreamed of a day we would stand as equals to the human nobles, instead of second class citizens." Cyrion's lips quirked in an almost ironic grin. "She was always challenging the customs and the norms."

"Mama wasn't afraid of anything," Kallian said softly, reminded of a time when she was younger, much younger, and her mom took her to a bookstore. A human bookstore, of all things, refusing to be cowed by the angry glares of the human patrons who spat at the ground as she passed.

"Adaia was a very brave woman," Cyrion said. "She wanted you to learn courage, how to defend yourself in case you ever needed it. That was why she taught you how to use the knives, the throwing daggers, and," Cyrion swallowed thickly, "the rest. It was her dream that you leave the alienage. That you would travel beyond our walls and see more of the world than she had the opportunity to."

Her father's voice filled with pride and sorrow, and Kallian saw the fierce determination that filled his weathered features. "Why did you try to marry me off then?"

Cyrion's face filled with remorse. "I loved your mother, but things change, Kallian. People change, especially when loved ones are taken from them. When your mother died," His eyes fluttered closed, "a part of myself died that day. I couldn't even avenge her because to do so would have meant leaving you without any parents. Elindria, your mother's sister, didn't understand that. And so Soris and Shianni were left orphans, and I was left with the care of three children, not just one."

Cyrion sighed deeply. "I didn't wish... your mother's fate upon you. So I tried to stop it."

"It felt like you were trying to get rid of all my memories of her," Kallian whispered softly, allowing the bitter memories to resurface.

"You have so much of your mother within you," Cyrion said softly, his fingers trailing up her cheekbone, pushing aside a few stray tendrils of dark hair. "You have her face, her nose." He poked the body part in question, drawing a giggle from Kallian, before trailing a gentle thumb alongside of her head. "Her ears."

"But your eyes," Kallian leaned into her father's palm, savoring the long-absent touch. After all, this could be the last time she saw him. The Landsmeet would begin in a few hours. Then the march to Redcliffe and the Archdemon. What could she say to the man who had sacrificed so much to keep her clothed and fed, but had so little to show for it?

"Your mother would have wanted you to have this," Cyrion said, holding the sheathed dagger out to Kallian, hilt first. The Warden's fingers traced over the intricate patterns, the supple whorls and soft lines on the leather sheath. After a moment's hesitation, Kallian withdrew the dagger, marveling at the sheen of the long untouched blade and the quality workmanship of the hilt.

The hilt was elaborate, telling the story of the elves, from the beginning of Arlathan to their enslavement and subsequent freedom by Andraste. Kallian's fingers traced over the fine pattern, admiring it, until her fingers touched upon a tiny imperfection. Frowning, the Warden leaned in, eyes making out the tiny inscription.

_A – with all my love, CT_

Cyrion Tabris.

Her father had made this hilt for her mother.

Overcome with emotion, she threw her arms around her father, allowing her embrace to speak where words failed her. "I love you, papa," Kallian finally managed, her voice hoarse.

"I love you too, Kallian." Cyrion returned the embrace, and for once there was no awkwardness, no hesitation.

The sound of approaching footfalls separated the two, and Kallian hastily wiped her face, looking up to meet her cousin's sympathetic and apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry, uncle. Kallian," Shianni said sheepishly. "The others are asking about you. They're ready to go."

The Warden nodded, pushing slowly to her feet. Glancing once more at her father, she gave the older elf a small smile, slipping the sheath of the dagger into her belt. She pushed to her feet, walking only a few steps with her cousin before her father's voice called her back.

Cyrion ripped off the long ties from his neck, removing the necklace and placing it into his daughter's open hand, closing her fingertips around the small token.

"The one with red hair, the pretty one, what's her name?"

Kallian blushed deeply, the tips of her ears unpleasantly warm at her father's implication. Beside her, Shianni snickered mercilessly.

"Leliana," Kallian's blush darkened further, wishing that the earth would swallow her whole at the knowing expression in Cyrion's eyes.

"I would very much like to meet her when this is all over," Cyrion's voice carried with it a hint of amusement.

Kallian slowly unfurled her grip, letting out a gasp as her eyes fell upon the small trinket her father had given her.

In her palm was her mother's wedding ring.

* * *

You came to me last night, in my dreams. You were standing amidst a field of the most beautiful wildflowers I had ever seen. Thousands of little white blossoms surrounded you, enveloping you like a veil. The sky was the most brilliant shade of blue and nary could a cloud be seen from horizon to horizon. The sun's golden warmth reflected off your skin, giving it an almost ethereal quality.

You were absolutely beautiful. Your hair shone with golden highlights from the sun's bouncing rays, and the harsh planes and scars on your skin were nonexistent. Your cheeks had a healthy, rosy glow and your eyes twinkled like the prettiest jewels.

You wore robes of the finest silk – radiant white with the prettiest golden embroidery I had ever seen. It was the finest of craftsmanship – many a lady in Orlais would kill to have attire so expertly manufactured. The sleeves were long and flowing and when you moved they tossed around you like a gentle wave.

_Lethallan. Love._

You called to me, and I ran towards you, flying as fast as I could to join you. Your eyes, the color of an uncut jade, met mine, and I was lost, once again, by the sheer intensity of your gaze.

_I am waiting for you._


	15. Formulations

**Chapter 14: Formulations**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Our proof now in hand – the nobles were called.  
****The great question to answer once and for all –  
****Maric's son, Alistair, or Loghain, father to the queen  
****Who best to assume the throne as Ferelden's next king?**

**And despite the proof of the Teyrn's treachery  
****An easy decision it would prove not to be.  
****The vote was near tied, but in the end, Maric's son  
****With support from the bannorn, the throne was then won.**

**But Loghain refused to bow to such fate  
****And with sword in hand, eyes filled with great hate  
****He challenged the Wardens in a duel to the death  
****And at sword's deadly point would draw final breath.**

**And so would end short and tumultuous reign  
****Of Ferelden's great general, the Hero of Dane.  
****Our armies united – from humans to dwarves  
****Would march now to Redcliffe under banner of war.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Bloody fools, all of them._

Morrigan stormed through the forest, the low-lying brambles and thin, whippy branches that obscured her path little more than a nuisance. She tore through them with little concern for the safety of the underlying foliage, a few times pointedly snapping the troublesome limbs with her very thoughts.

Couldn't Kallian see how foolish she was acting? Did the elf truly wish to die – nothing more than a tool, a pawn of the Grey Wardens in a futile war? Oh, it was true that she would die and her name immortalized for awhile. But memories were fickle, and in time she would be forgotten. There would be another Archdemon, another Blight. Her sacrifice would be forgotten as another hero rose to answer the call.

Morrigan's lip curled in distaste at the whole situation. For she had not known the truth herself until she read about the dark ritual in Flemeth's grimoire, realizing that her mother's sole purpose for sending her with the Wardens had been to capture the essence of the old demon inside of a willing vessel.

The witch scowled. Her life would have been forfeit the second the baby had been born; of this she had no doubt. She was Flemeth's tool, nothing more, her presence on this mission little more than an elaborate plot to capture the Archdemon's soul.

Morrigan cursed at pain in her chest that arose with those thoughts. This is what came from allowing oneself to be weak. She had become nothing more than a sentimental fool, easily influenced by those around her. Perhaps she deserved to perish like the rest. But alas, it would not be. Her mother was dead now, thanks in no small part to Kallian, and even if Morrigan had given birth to the infant, Flemeth's soul would be in no place to assert its influence for many, many centuries.

The witch gripped her staff in anger. She could have made use of the child. The Archdemon was a potent magical being, and Morrigan felt confident she could have harnessed the secrets and the discovered the ancient powers it carried within. They would have made her a dangerous force to be reckoned with. And when Flemeth did return, as Morrigan knew she would, the witch would have found herself on equal footing with her mother. Strong enough, at last, to destroy Flemeth's soul forever.

That the ritual would spare Kallian's life was almost incidental. At least, she tried to convince herself of that. Morrigan's eyes narrowed as a small hare darted across her path, golden orbs contemplating its suitability for supper.

Morrigan wasn't sure what made her angrier – Kallian's outright refusal to consider her solution, or having ever taken the woman into her confidence in the first place.

Friendship is an illusion. Flemeth's words came back to haunt her. No one gives of themselves freely without expecting something in return. Deceit and cunning are the true nature of man. Manipulation and duplicity are the only constants. Master these, and you shall master the so-called art of friendship.

She had believed those words, had lived by them. But then Kallian arrived and in almost systematic fashion had shattered many of Morrigan's long-standing perceptions. Trinkets had been freely bestowed without thought of reward. Oh, it was true that she had at first viewed these acts with suspicion. What was Kallian's angle – was she merely trying to lull her into complacency? Would she strike when she stumbled upon on any sign of gratitude, any perceived weakness? But no, time had passed, and suddenly Morrigan had found herself on the defensive.

It had begun with the finding of the black grimoire in the Circle Tower. Kallian had returned to recover the tome, even risking the disapproval of the others – useless sheep who feared reprisal from Irving and that ignorant fool of a Knight-Commander, Greagoir. At first, Morrigan had not believed her eyes when she'd been presented with the long-missing grimoire. Flemeth had told her of how it had been stolen many centuries ago. She had believed it lost forever.

And how had the elf had managed to locate a single book in a tower stacked floor to ceiling with them? Was it fate or dumb luck? Given that Alistair had accompanied them, it was impossible to tell. Morrigan had studied the tome for days, verifying its authenticity through careful examination. It was indeed the grimoire Flemeth had lost long ago.

And why would Kallian willingly sacrifice such a priceless artifact as a present? Surely the elf had a reason for giving Morrigan the tome – some impossible task she required the witch to complete, no doubt. Perhaps she sought some ancient Grey Warden rituals she believed would be contained within. But time had passed, and Kallian never asked for anything else. And Morrigan never offered to share the secrets contained within until the day she had discovered her mother intended to kill her.

When she had first pulled Kallian aside and told her of Flemeth's plan to possess her body, she had expected laughter, ridicule. She had expected for the Warden to demand to see proof of Flemeth's treachery. What she had not expected was that Kallian would believe her words without question. To risk her own life to kill Morrigan's mother.

Perhaps Flemeth had intended for her to find the grimoire, to learn of the ritual that would capture the Archdemon's soul. But that would make no sense – her mother had to have known that that she attempt to unlock all its secrets.

The thought was disquieting. For if Flemeth knew that Morrigan would find the grimoire, it stood to reason she would have foreseen her own death.

And she would have planned accordingly.

Her pace slowed, eyes darting to the surrounding shadows. Was it possible that Flemeth was watching her now, lurking in the shadows like a viper, ready to lash out in an instant against its unsuspecting prey? Morrigan cursed softly under her breath. Her mother would no doubt find this all extraordinarily amusing.

Morrigan's mind flickered to the memories of the other gifts – a golden mirror, its edges gilded in an ornate pattern. How had Kallian managed to find such a close replica to the mirror that her mother had smashed upon the rocks many years ago? And then there had been Flemeth's own grimoire, salvaged from the charred remains of a chest amidst the ashes of a smoldering hut.

It was then that Morrigan finally believed. And she began to study her mother's ritual in more detail, intent on learning all its hidden secrets. Secrets that would also save the life of the only friend she had ever known.

Morrigan rested a palm against the tree, her fingernails digging painfully into the rough bark. What was this terrible pain that flowed through her veins, nearly consuming her with its sheer intensity? Was it the pain of a lost friendship? Was this love? The very thought made Morrigan want to fling herself off a cliff.

Some distance behind, a second pair of footsteps moved along the broken path. Morrigan cursed softly, identifying the footfalls immediately, turning to face her tracker.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Wynne moved briskly along the rocky path, her staff serving as her only support along the narrow, winding trail. A reddish-orange ball of flame rested in her palm, serving as her solitary guide in this otherwise moonless night.

She was old – far too old – to be tracking down petulant children.

The mage had chosen not to reveal this to the others, but the spirit that supported and sustained her was fading rapidly. She had felt it first on the open roads, and again in Orzammar, where days of constant battle in the dark and unforgiving tunnels had taken its toll. At first it was a subtle change. Her spells were a touch weaker, her energy drained a bit faster. Lyrium became more important, but that too held its own dangers.

In the past week, Wynne had noticed that even the most mundane of spells no longer came effortlessly.

So far, the others had not noticed. That would not remain the case for long. But there was life in her old bones yet, and Wynne promised herself that as long as she could remain of some use to the others she would continue to follow them. The darkest days were still ahead, and the mage knew that the task before them was nearly impossible.

Little more than a candlemark had passed since she had found Kallian in her room, nearly catatonic, her fists bruised and bloody from her destructive tirade that had rendered a good bit of her furniture as kindling. She had forced the truth out of the reluctant Warden, her worst fears confirmed as the elf replayed her earlier meeting with Riordan and Alistair.

Wynne had suspected something amiss with the old stories – Grey Warden secrets that had remained hidden from public awareness. Unbeknownst to the others, she had been secretly pouring over all of her old texts and manuscripts, trying to find some insight into how to kill the Archdemon.

Her footsteps slowed, the truth of the situation distressing her deeply. She had come to love both Alistair and Kallian as if they were her own children. She had watched Kallian with pride as the young elf developed from a brash, impulsive girl into a strong, competent, capable young woman. She had watched Alistair gain confidence in himself and in his decisions, adopting the bearing and posture of a true king. Together, she had watched them accomplish the impossible, from saving the mages in the Circle to uniting races long separated by war and mistrust, molding these forces into an army.

Wynne had seen so much death and destruction from this Blight. She had watched good friends scream in terror as they were ripped apart by the Darkspawn horde. That she would have to watch as another life was sacrificed, especially one she held so dear, was a bitter pill to swallow.

The sounds of fighting were straight ahead, and Wynne quickened her pace, emerging into the clearing, just in time to see both Leliana and Morrigan intent upon killing each other. Without hesitation, Wynne tapped deeply into her meager reserves and with a righteous fury flung her hands out, sending a powerful whirlwind towards the two young women. They flew apart – Leliana into a low-lying bush, while Morrigan landed painfully against the trunk of a large oak tree.

The spell left the older mage deeply exhausted, and Wynne leaned heavily on her staff, silently willing the spirit to give her strength.

"You both should be ashamed of yourselves, fighting this way on our eve of battle. Especially you, Leliana, unless your claims of wanting to protect Ferelden from the Blight meant nothing to you," Wynne's stern reprimand and steely glare forced the younger woman to look away in submission. The forlorn expression on the bard's face tugged on Wynne's heartstrings. The mage could only imagine what the bard must be going through, knowing that she had only days left with the woman she loved.

Morrigan, on the other hand... Wynne seethed inside, remembering Kallian's description of the apostate's counter-proposal. The scorpion had finally showed its true intentions.

"Morrigan..." her voice dropped dangerously low, allowing herself the full weight of the fury behind her words. "Leave. And do not return to Ferelden. If I find that you have tried to interfere with the final battle..."

"You'll what, crone?" Morrigan stood shakily on her feet, disoriented from the force of the impact against the tree. Her golden eyes flashed vindictively, and for an instant the two engaged in a silent battle of wills. Wynne refused to allow Morrigan the upper hand. Whatever the woman's intentions had been originally, she had sacrificed any goodwill when she proposed a ritual of blood magic to keep the Archdemon's soul alive.

Wynne's lips quirked in almost a snarl, allowing her fury full reign. If Morrigan attacked, she would bring forth the full power of the spirit. Even if it ended her life, she would not allow Morrigan to best her in battle. Wynne could see the uncertainty in the other mage's eyes. Was she strong enough to fight alone against both Leliana and Wynne? A bard and a senior enchanter from the hated Circle Tower?

Wynne pounced mercilessly on the witch's fears, projecting an image into Morrigan's mind of her own defeat and subsequent imprisonment in the Aeonar. Breaching the younger mage's defenses was not too difficult, as Morrigan had exerted considerable energy from her battle with the bard.

Morrigan's expression went from anger to astonishment and then dismay. The younger woman scowled, challenging Wynne to make good on her threat.

Wynne arched a single eyebrow, her lips already beginning to murmur the appropriate spell of containment.

Muttering a string of curses, Morrigan spun on her heel, disappearing deep into the woods. Wynne sighed in relief, grateful she did not have to exert any more energy into neutralizing Morrigan. She stared at the space where the witch had been for a brief second before glancing over to the bard.

Leliana's eyes were leveled on the ground, contrite. She blinked rapidly, her eyes bright and filled with unshed tears. Chastened, the bard tried to mumble an apology. Wynne sighed quietly. While the bard was not completely blameless in this situation, she could hardly fault her. Would she have done any differently?

Wynne opened her arms, willingly accepting the bard as her composure broke. The mage sighed once more. She had known this day would eventually come – the day when Kallian would have to choose between her duty to her heart and her duty to her country.

However, Wynne could not deny that the love the women had shared had helped them grow into stronger individuals. They had been a great source of encouragement for each other, and Kallian would need that strength to face the upcoming darkness.

"She needs your strength, Leliana," Wynne gently cupped the bard's cheeks, her hands glowing dull blue as she healed the worst of the bruises from her battle with Morrigan. "Especially now. Go to her. Spend your remaining hours together. Life is far too fleeting to squander in unkind words and bruised feelings."

Leliana nodded in understanding, rising on her toes and brushing her lips across the older woman's cheek. A sad smile came to her own lips as she watched Leliana race back to Redcliffe castle.

Only after the bard left did Wynne allow herself to grieve.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The dreams come more frequently now.

They're always the same – the meadow, the flowers, and the sky. You always reach out for me, calling for me, promising me that you'll wait for me. And always, I try to join you. Our fingertips come so close to touching that sometimes I am left with the sensation of your warmth when I awake, my fingers enclosed around the ring you gave me before you died.

The first few nights, I scared the palace servants. The dream was so real that I was absolutely convinced you were nearby. I'm ashamed to say I spent the better part of a candlemark running from room to room calling for you. The servants thought I was going mad, and one of them promptly sent for a healer, convinced I should be sent to the asylum.

I am fortunate that Wynne found me first, though she was confused when I tried to tell her I had found you. She assisted me back to the room, dismissing the palace healers and insisting that she care for me personally.

I was staring out the window at the market today, watching as people travel to and fro. I am reminded of the time I finally convinced you to accompany me to the different stalls. You were so patient with me back then, even though the Denerim market made you uncomfortable. Wynne enters while I am looking outside, and asks me if I want to shop. I think for a moment, nodding in agreement, and she is relieved. She thinks this means I am getting better. But I am not sick, nor am I crazy.

Wynne visits the market with me. It is not necessary, but she will insist if I protest, so I say nothing. She peruses the market stalls with some interest, and though she never looks away for long, she is distracted often enough that I am able to procure a few items that I think I will need.

The plan is a mere inkling of an idea that has begun to take root in the recesses of my mind.

Wynne asks about the ballad. I've allowed her to read excerpts periodically. She seems to enjoy them. It is almost finished, and soon I will be ready to read it to them.

Not all of them will come. Sten has already departed for Par Vollen to present his final report on the Blight to his Arishok. Shale, too, has left. The rumors place her somewhere in the northlands, hunting pigeons. Morrigan's whereabouts are of course unknown. Oghren has gone to track down Felsi, but perhaps he will return, if only for an evening.

But Alistair, Wynne, and Zevran are there. And of course there is Fynn. In a voice unused to speech, I tell Wynne it is nearly finished, and I would very much like to read the final product to everyone. She smiles at me and pats my cheek. I feel almost guilty at what I must do.

But they wouldn't understand. You are waiting for me. I can feel it.


	16. Homecoming

**Chapter 15: Homecoming**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**We gathered at Redcliffe, our troops and Arl Eamon's,  
****But word came from Denerim of the approaching Archdemon.  
****The bulk of the horde marched on Denerim's walls  
****If help failed to come the great city would fall.**

**Three days we did travel with many a worry  
****To find Denerim burning from the Archdemon's fury.  
****The market destroyed, many people had fled  
****The streets running red from the dying and dead.**

**The stalls had been broken; buildings ravaged by flame  
****We slew all the darkspawn and the general to blame.  
****We cleared out the alienage with the troops of Arl Eamon  
****And rescued the elves from the thrall of the demon.**

**And though he fought bravely to save us all  
****From the Archdemon's back, Riordan would fall.  
****His death would thus seal Kallian's fate  
****The Archdemon to stop before 'twas too late.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"They're storming the gates! We need to run!"

Shianni shot a dirty glance over her shoulder at Tamriel, pulling another arrow out of her quiver. "We can't run!" She snapped, turning, with trepidation, to the wooden wall hastily constructed at the outskirts of the alienage. Acrid smoke filled the air, the smell of burning flesh and smoldering wood making her eyes water. This was her home – and it was burning to death around her.

"We can't fight them. Did you see the size of the one at the wall? We don't have a chance of beating it."

"And where will we run?" Shianni glared at the pair of archers behind her. "We're surrounded on all sides. We'll never make it past the lines. This is it – if we don't hold the lines, the alienage is lost."

"But…"

Shianni dropped her bow and grabbed the taller elf by his collar, shaking him for good measure. Tamriel's large brown eyes went wide as sovereigns at the ferocity in the shorter woman's eyes.

"This is my home. I will not abandon it. Run, if you must. But I will make my stand."

_And die here._

She released his collar, bending to grab her bow. Behind her, she could hear the footsteps running in the opposite direction. Her heart sank, but grimly, she trotted over to the wall, where a relentless pounding could be heard against the wood. Arms trembling, she raised her bow, nocking and trying to steady her arm. She was shaking so badly – or was it the earth beneath her? – that she could scarcely get a steady aim on her target.

_Give me strength._

The wall exploded, splinters flying in the air around her, whipping past her face and clothes. The ogre let out a heart-stopping bellow.

And charged.

Shianni's breath caught in her throat, her entire world narrowing to the giant form barreling towards her position. Arms shaking, she drew the arrow back…

…only to be knocked aside as a terrifying creature blew past her, jumping and burying its twin daggers into the ogre's chest.

Someone knelt beside her and Shianni lifted her head, blinking in stunned recognition at the familiar pale eyes.

"Leliana?"

The bard looked terrible, dark circles marring her otherwise pale skin. Blood was liberally spattered across her face and leathers, and the human appeared as if at any moment she might drop from exhaustion. She reached out a hand, and Shianni grabbed ahold, allowing the human to pull her to her feet.

"Are you alright?" Shianni nodded mutely at the Orlesian accent. "Where is Cyrion and the rest of your people?"

"Father led most of them out the back wall of the city." Shianni dipped her head in gratitude to her cousin's…betrothed? Lover? What was it that humans called their significant others? Shianni glanced over her shoulder, her chest sinking as she eyed the bodies of her dead kinsmen. "We managed to get a wall up – but they were approaching too quickly. There was not enough time. We had to try to slow them down."

"That's very brave, Shianni." A flicker of sorrow filled the bard's eyes, though just for a moment before turning, an arrow appearing in her bow so quickly Shianni scarcely noticed the bard move. "But now, we must make our stand."

And then she saw her.

_Cousin?_

Kallian moved like she was possessed by a demon, dancing in and out of the horde in a blur. Blood flew wherever she moved, felling darkspawn after darkspawn with anguished cries.

"Is that _really_ my cousin?" Shianni murmured, glancing in wonder at the bard, who loosed an arrow straight into the chest of an incoming Hurlock. The bard dipped her head in acknowledgement, readying her bow and leveling it at another one of the beasts. Absently, as if remembering she had a weapon of her own, Shianni reached for her bow, loosing another arrow into the belly of a genlock.

There were so many of them. The darkspawn seemed to be pouring in from everywhere, melting from the shadows, crawling upwards from the gutters. Sweat poured down her forehead as she sent volley after volley into a heart, a head, a leg. They were relentless, crawling forward even after they had been crippled, black-fanged jaws snapping in defiance of their defenders.

And Kallian…she and Alistair blew through them as if they were standing still. Kallian catapulted off the body of a freshly decapitated genlock, launching herself towards a Hurlock and slashing across its throat before it had time to lift its sword, ducking under the poison-coated blade and disemboweling a third darkspawn before Shianni could loose a single volley.

And still they came. And she fought. Her entire world narrowed down to the point of an arrow, intent on killing as many of these Maker-forsaken creatures as she could.

"Focus your fire on the spellcaster." The bard barked sharply, and Shianni's eyes darted around until she found the target, a tall, sinister-looking beast with a necklace of shrunken skulls dangling loosely from its neck. Bile rose up in her throat at the sight of the mutilated body, barely suppressing a wave of nausea as the creature began to wave its arms in the air.

Kallian ran towards the Emissary, jumping and lunging for the creature, her blade bared towards its throat.

And then she froze.

"Cousin!" Shianni shrieked, bow and arrow forgotten as she began to race towards the pair. Kallian's eyes were locked on her target, filled with angry defiance and outrage at having walked into such an obvious spell.

Shianni had no idea what she was going to do when she actually reached the Emissary. She had no skill with any blade – and here she was racing towards a powerful mage that would probably dissolve her bones to jelly before she got within arm's length.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"_It's the elf!"_

_Shianni let out a choked sob, curling into a tight ball as she tried to pull the torn remains of her dress around her bruised and battered body. Dimly, she could hear the sounds of men screaming, could see the splatter of blood across the thick stone._

_Make it stop. Please make it stop._

_His voice…begging for mercy. Kallian's answering snarl as she swept his own sword across his body, parting head from shoulders in a spray of blood._

_The familiar form knelt beside her, tears pouring freely from the pale green eyes as she gathered the shivering elf against her chest._

_Shianni lifted her head, choking back a sob as she met her cousin's own red-rimmed gaze._

"_Take me home…" _

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_This time, I will save you. _Shianni pushed her body to its limit, dimly aware of the presence of the bard beside her, racing towards her cousin's form. The bard tossed a dagger ahead of the elf, and Shianni grabbed the hilt out of midair, ducking under the sword of a Hurlock that quickly met its fate at the other Warden's sword.

She somersaulted below the swinging staff of the spellcaster, emerging into a crouch just as the bard flung herself in front of Kallian. Leliana buried a sword into the darkspawn's chest, the Emissary unleashing a roar of defiance. Shianni lunged upwards, wrapping her arm around the darkspawn's neck and bringing her dagger across its throat in a spray of blood and gore.

They fell, the world going dark as the wind left her. For a moment, she thought she was dying – she could not seem to draw breath, nor move, and her head was spinning around her, sounds growing dim.

"Shianni!"

With some effort, the Darkspawn was pushed off her chest, Kallian's frantic eyes seeking her out, relaxing only when she realized Shianni was still breathing.

"Saved you, this time…" Shianni managed between ragged gasps. Kallian shook her head, blinking back tears of relief as she gathered her younger cousin into her arms.

"That was so royally stupid I should knock you silly. What were you thinking?" Kallian hugged her cousin tightly, eyes finding Leliana's and Alistair's in quiet gratitude. Beside them, Wynne quickly knelt, her hands glowing as she murmured the appropriate healing spells.

"I couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?" Shianni winced as her cousin gave her another rough squeeze.

"Is father...?"

"He's all right," Shianni quickly reassured her cousin, seeing the relief fill her cousin's tired gaze. "He took the others to safety outside of the city."

Kallian nodded, her eyes lifting to meet the bard's as an unspoken exchange passed between the pair.

"How are our numbers?" Kallian turned her focus to Alistair. The other Warden pulled off his helmet, regarding Kallian with a pinched expression.

"The dwarven forces are down by a quarter, though Kardol and his men seem to have taken no serious injuries so far. Nearly a third of Eamon's men have died retaking the market. No word yet from the mages or the Dalish."

The elf's eyes narrowed as she muttered a long string of curses that made Alistair blush. Kallian massaged her temples with her forefingers. She looked vaguely sick.

"Okay," she looked up wearily at her fellow Warden. "Send a runner out to the troops and let them know to bring the injured here. Anyone who can still hold a sword long enough to spill Darkspawn blood needs to return to the front lines. Have one," Kallian hesitated, "no, two, mages brought here. Tell them to get our soldiers back on the front line as fast as possible. If someone's injuries are too severe..."

"Understood," Alistair's expression was grim. "I will have them leave a squad here in case the Darkspawn return."

Kallian nodded and turned to her cousin. "The Dalish should have arrived… I imagine they're trying to get past the city gates. Shianni, I need you to find Lanaya. That's their keeper. Let her know I want the Dalish on the walls, picking off as many of the Darkspawn as possible. Bring a small contingent back here to protect the infirmary."

"But cousin…"

"There should be a dwarf with them," Kallian ignored the interruption. "Tell him he and the rest of his men should meet us at the palace gates. The fighting is still severe there and we need the reinforcements. We'll head there now."

"Wait," Shianni grabbed her cousin's arm before the elf could turn away. She felt Kallian's body tense underneath the grip. "Take me with you. I want to fight."

"Absolutely not," Kallian snapped impatiently, ignoring Shianni's wounded expression. She jerked her arm away from the other elf. "The fighting is thickest there. You'll be killed."

"This is as much my home as it is yours," Shianni retorted, her clenched fists tightening around her bow. "I can fight."

"I know you can." Something in Kallian's face softened, her shoulder slumping forward as if she'd been hit. "Shianni, someone has to stay here and organize everything. I have to be on the front lines. I need someone I can trust here."

"You are not leaving me..."

"Shianni," Kallian grabbed her younger cousin firmly by the shoulders, her eyes pleading. "You are the only one I can trust to be in charge here."

Shianni scowled, squinting at her older cousin. "Can't someone else do this?"

Kallian's hands dropped and she turned, rubbing her face tiredly. "The Darkspawn will be back. You need to make sure they hold these gates. If you don't, the alienage will be destroyed. I can't protect it anymore. You have to."

Shianni remained silent, her brow furrowed in thought. The younger elf thought about arguing further, but one look at her cousin's exhausted features made her realize how futile arguing really was. We can't fight each other now, or when the Darkspawn come there will be nothing left to fight.

"Okay," She conceded reluctantly, watching her cousin's eyes fill with relief. "But you better make it up to me when this is all over."

Relief gave way to sorrow. "I..." Kallian's voice quivered, and she flung her arms around her younger cousin, hugging her with surprising ferocity. "I... will. Goodbye, Shianni."

Before Shianni could ask her cousin what was wrong, a blood-curdling scream cut across the battlefield, several of the soldiers dropping to the dirt at the sheer terror of the ear-splitting shriek. Shianni clapped her hands over her ears, unable to fight the icy terror that gripped her heart at the Archdemon's call.

Only Kallian and Alistair seemed unaffected, though Kallian winced as the Archdemon soared overhead, sending a stream a fire to a row of houses a few blocks away.

"Move out!" Kallian shouted, releasing her cousin abruptly as she raced towards the main bridge that led towards the palace.

They had just barely made it over the putrid waters when the Archdemon roared again, diving towards the small party with incredible speed. Kallian was the last across, somersaulting out of the way as a swipe from the dragon's mighty tail sent mortar and stone flying, destroying any hope of reinforcements arriving at the alienage.

The dragon began a long loop around one of the palace towers, intent on laying waste to the alienage, when small figure lunged off a nearby roof, landing on the back of the creature. The Archdemon shrieked and rolled, trying to shake off its assailant.

"Maker, is that Riordan?" Alistair's voice rose in hope at the sight of the man and the Archdemon struggling furiously. Kallian watched the entire scene, mesmerized by the older Grey Warden, who was climbing up the dragon's back with his daggers, sprays of thick, dark blood falling from the sky like raindrops. Shianni's eyes widened as she watched the pair struggle hundreds of feet from the ground.

Riordan's hand slipped as the terrifying beast lurched forward once more. The dragon flew into the side of one of the towers. The thin, leathery membrane of its wing could not sustain the weight of the Grey Warden. Both Riordan and Archdemon fell – the dragon to the top of the fort, and Riordan to his death.

"No…!" Shianni could hear the bard's anguished cry from across the bridge. Kallian glanced quickly at her cousin, before turning away from the bard, her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Confused, Shianni watched as her cousin pressed a hand to the bard's shaking shoulders, leaning close to whisper something in her ear.

Then she ran.

* * *

Many believe you died killing the Archdemon. But I watched you die the moment Riordan slipped from its back.

They didn't see the hope that had filled your eyes during his struggles. They didn't know how desperately you wanted him to succeed. They did not see the last, fleeting remnants of hope fade away, leaving nothing but a cold, empty shell and the inescapable burden of duty.

It was as if Riordan's death energized you. From then on you fought as if you were possessed, your daggers sending hundreds of Darkspawn to their deaths. You moved so swiftly no blade could touch you.

Many of the men believed you to be the reincarnation of Garahel, the elven Warden who slew the Archdemon Andoral in the Fourth Blight.

Shianni came to see me today. She seems older now, her eyes no longer filled with the enthusiasm of youth. She has become stronger, harder. I do not believe she is the child you used to know.

She sits with me, and tells me of the changes in the alienage. Your father's newfound status has met with mixed response. Some elves are angry at him, but those jealous individuals are few and far between. Others in the alienage spend their days trying to win your father's favor. He has already been named as Hahren, a title that he does not desire. And he has yet to step foot in the Arl's estate. He does not lead, so Shianni assumes his duties, caring for him and the others in the alienage as she always has.

Shianni is worried. Cyrion has not been eating or sleeping well, she says. She stays close to him, keeping him sheltered from the prying eyes and ears of the alienage. She is worried that some of the human nobles will retaliate, even though Alistair has assured her anyone who does will be swiftly dealt with.

In the end she gives me a hug, pressing her lips against my forehead. Her eyes flicker briefly to the ring on my left hand, her face clouding with emotion. She leaves, and I feel both relieved and sad. Shianni is a strong woman, and she will do well for herself.

But she is so very much like you, and her presence reminds me of just how much we both have lost.


	17. Hero

**Chapter 16: Hero**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**While we went to Fort Drakon to meet our dark fates,  
****Our valiant friends fought to hold palace gates.  
****To lead them in battle was Sten the Qunari  
****Also Shale, Zevran, and Fynn, the Mabari.  
****From Orzammar hailed Oghren the dwarf  
****Banded together until the tides of war  
****Sent many fleeing from the swords of men  
****While others would fall ne'er to rise again.**

**We made it the top of Drakon's tallest walls  
****Battling hundreds of demon thralls.  
****The fighting was thick and though many men died,  
****A single arrow found Archdemon hide.  
****It buried itself in the Archdemon's chest  
****But only a sword could give final rest.**

**Bravely she ran and with sword drawn anew  
****The dying Archdemon the brave Kallian soon slew.  
****The sky opened up and the very earth shook  
****Maker's hand covered all and we dared not to look.**

**When the light finally passed and we all regained sight  
****A Grey Warden, an elf, had ended the Blight.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Below, the cheers of men echoed across the lands. The Blight was over, and Ferelden had been saved. Without the Archdemon directing the battle, the remaining Darkspawn survivors began to flee, and those few pockets of fighters who did remain were chaotic and disorganized. Grown men fell to their knees giving thanks to the Maker, and the sounds of laughter nearly drowned out the sounds of dying men.

Shianni slowly pushed to her feet, her eyes immediately darting to the top of Fort Drakon, where an explosion had occurred. She had been on the walls with the Dalish archers, defending them from the Darkspawn counterattacks. Shianni glanced around the plaza to where cots had been set up to care for the casualties.

The Archdemon had actually done them a favor by destroying one of the main bridges leading to the alienage. With only the entrance to the newly conquered marketplace intact, she had been able to fulfill Kallian's last request and set up the main square as a hospice to care for the steady stream of wounded soldiers who had trickled in. The few Circle mages who had survived the attack at the gates were working vigorously as they raced from one cot to another, trying to slow the flow of wounded.

Lanaya stepped up beside her, and Shianni smiled shyly at the Dalish keeper. Shianni wasn't sure what she had been expecting when Lanaya had first introduced herself as the leader of the Dalish. Her cousin had seemed less than impressed with the group as a whole, but she'd spoken highly of their keeper, saying the woman had the sense of a hundred elves.

"It appears that the Archdemon is dead." Lanaya's grin was contagious, and Shianni beamed broadly. "You know, you're not too bad with a longbow. We could use another hunter in our tribe."

Shianni's grin widened. "You know, I may just have to take you up on that offer." Maybe it was time for her to have her own adventures. The stories of her cousin's own exploits sounded so exciting. Shianni glanced once more to the top of Fort Drakon. "But first, I have a certain cousin to congratulate."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Kallian was dead._

Leliana's tears had long subsided, the terrible weight settling around her heart like a vice. The bard regarded her lover's face through bloodshot eyes, unblinking, unseeing. She felt surprisingly empty, as if she were standing outside of her own body looking at a mere reflection.

Andraste help her – Kallian looked like she was sleeping. The bard swept away a tendril of sweat-soaked hair from the elf's forehead before tracing a finger across her lover's chin, as if by touch alone she could will it to move. Her forefinger paused briefly against the Warden's lips, which were still warm to the touch. Frozen in time, the Warden's face was completely relaxed, at peace. She pressed a bit harder on the smooth skin, half-expecting the elf to kiss her fingertip.

Behind her, Alistair stood silently, his arm wrapped gently around Wynne's waist. His jaw was clamped firmly shut, and every few seconds he would quickly swipe at his eyes, ignoring the stares of the soldiers who were looking to him for guidance. Wynne leaned against the Templar for support, a hand clasped firmly over her mouth, stifling the sounds of her own tears.

Fynn was the first to arrive from palace grounds. The copper-coated Mabari had barked enthusiastically at first as he trotted happily towards the Leliana and Kallian, excited to be reunited with his favorite mistresses. But as he neared and began to sense something was wrong, his demeanor changed, barking gave way to whines as he crawled towards Kallian's fallen body.

Sniffing Kallian's fingertips, Fynn nuzzled the Warden's hand with his nose, nudging the digits gently. Before, this would almost assuredly earn him a thorough throat scratching from the elf. When her hand remained limp, Fynn whimpered plaintively, looking up in bewilderment at the bard. He glanced between the two women, and then he licked Kallian's cheek, sticking his nose into the elf's ear.

Leliana pressed a hand over her mouth, barely suppressing a sob. It was the Mabari's favorite way to rouse the elf in the early morning hours. Had she still been alive, Kallian would have responded with a startled squawk, letting out a string of curses as she sprang out of the bedroll.

Sorrowful brown eyes lifted to Leliana's in comprehension. Fynn whined once more, crawling towards the bard's side and nudging her in the elbow until she wrapped her arm around him, each finding some measure of comfort from the other.

Zevran was next, his amber gaze filled with a deep sorry as he knelt beside the Warden, murmuring something in the Antivan language that Leliana did not recognize. The elf slowly pulled a small coin out of his pocket, laying it on top of Kallian's forehead.

Leliana recognized it as a small token that he was given when he became a Crow. She had asked him about it once – Zevran had explained to her that it had been a present from his master once he had completed his training for the crows. The token was supposed to mark him as a crow to his compatriots. It was, essentially, his very identity. The bard swallowed, remembering that Antivans often sent a token of remembrance with one's beloved when they died. It was supposed to serve as an offering to the Maker for safe passage across the Fade.

His eyes briefly met the bard's, and Leliana swallowed thickly at the raw grief mirrored in the Antivan's gaze.

As soon as Zevran left, Oghren approached, his expression markedly sober. The dwarf was splattered head to toe in blood, his beard thick and coated with the stench of the darkspawn. With red-rimmed eyes he focused on Kallian's still form, his hands fumbling with his canteen. After a few moments he raised the canister high above his head.

"You gave me the best battle of my life, Warden." His voice lowered, kneeling down by the Warden's side. "And you took an old, broken-down hack and gave him a reason to fight again. From one blighter to another, Warden, I sodding salute you." Oghren lifted his hand high in a toast, but rather than drinking, he set it down by Kallian's side, surrendering whatever drink to her eternal custody.

Sten was the last to come forward, his expression solemn as he knelt beside Kallian's supine form. The Qunari reached out with two fingers, touching them reverently against Kallian's forehead, beginning to chant in a low, melodic tone.

The bard's vision blurred once more with unshed tears at Sten's prayer. She knew the words came from the prayer book Kallian had found off of Bodahn's wares one evening back at the camp. The melody was haunting in its intonation, very similar to the one she had sang back in the Brecilian forest. Her eyes drifted closed, losing herself in the haunting melody, the tears once more falling from her eyes.

Sten had been her fiercest opponent, her greatest adversary. Yet even in the end, he dropped a knee to honor her – and elf from Denerim's alienage. And now he accorded her an honor reserved for only the greatest of the Qunari heroes.

As the last remnants of the melody drifted through the air, Sten picked up Adaia's dagger with sword-calloused fingers, carefully pressing the flat of the blade firmly against Kallian's chest. The Qunari's giant fingers encircled the Warden's, wrapping them around the ornate hilt.

It was several seconds before he spoke. "I will bear her body away from here." A declaration, not a request. Leliana pursed her lips together, nodding briefly.

"As will I," Alistair stepped up beside Sten, his tightly controlled voice brokering no argument. The two men studied each other in silence. They had never really taken to each other – Alistair had not been a true leader in Sten's eyes, and the Qunari was far too harsh and unyielding for the Templar's taste. Yet, even now as they faced one another, the fierce determination in Alistair's stance revealed his determination.

She had been with him from the beginning. He would see her through to the end.

Sten studied the Ferelden king with a serious expression, finally giving the man a firm nod. Alistair grunted in approval, motioning for one of the soldiers to bring a stretcher.

Somehow, one was brought forward, a crude piece of canvas cloth wrapped around two thick and sturdy wooden poles, and Kallian's body placed onto it. Sten and Alistair carried the front, while Oghren and Zevran lifted the back. It was hardly a task for four men, yet, each of them jealously vied for their right to do so.

And so they proceeded down the long, winding steps of the Fort. Shale led the procession, easily clearing a path, as no one wanted to stand in the way of a nine-foot-tall golem who could crush them into a fine paste. A long line of soldiers followed, marching in stoic silence. Alistair and Sten were next, then Kallian's body, Oghren, and Zevran. Leliana followed, her eyes glazed over in an emotionless void, guided by Wynne, who had an arm delicately draped around her shoulders. Fynn walked alongside the bard, casting sideling glances at his new mistress and issuing a low whine every few paces.

Leliana didn't remember the trip out of Fort Drakon, a process that took a small eternity. Later, she would recall how all of the soldiers dropped respectfully to one knee as Kallian's body passed, whether they were human, dwarf, or elf. Later she would remember how Cyrion crumbled at the sight of his daughter's lifeless form. She would later remember Shianni's low, keening wail as she hugged her cousin's body one last time.

_Later._

* * *

Tomorrow, I will say my final goodbyes.

Your body has been prepared, bathed in the scented rosewater and rubbed with the exotic oils normally reserved for a nobleman. Your armor has been cleaned, buckles and rivets polished until they positively gleam. Your eyes are closed, but your hand is wrapped around the sword you used to slay the Archdemon. Your mother's dagger is at your side – Alistair tried to return it to Cyrion, but he refused. He said it no longer belonged to him.

It is so strange to me to see you in this state, resting on the stone as if you were just sleeping. I asked Alistair about it after the funeral. He told me that the Grey Wardens have a special ceremony to honor their fallen. He did not know of many of the details, only that there was a pyre and that your ashes would be forever encased in a monument honoring your sacrifice.

Your body has been carefully preserved for its journey. Magic, it seems, has many uses. The Orlesian Wardens arrived last week and will have the honor of carrying your remains to the fortress at Weisshaupt. Your entourage will leave at the dawn, weaving its way throughout the lands, a grand processional honoring the great Kallian, elven hero of Ferelden who defeated the Archdemon Urthemiel.

The room is empty, a small concession for which I'm extremely grateful. Though the Wardens stand careful guard outside the small chamber where your body lays in repose, they were gracious enough to allow me the privilege of spending a few moments with you. I believe Alistair spoke to them – their eyes were sympathetic as I arrived, and one guard was kind enough to tell me to take all the time I need.

I'm glad, really. I do not wish for our last moments together to be sullied by the prying eyes of a stranger.

I hesitate briefly, reaching out and pressing a palm against your cool cheek. It is a strange sensation, and I draw back briefly at the shock of it. Perhaps I made a mistake – I would much rather remember your eyes filled with warmth and compassion. Not this cold, empty shell that bears little resemblance to the woman I knew and I loved.

Your hair has been artfully displayed, and after a second's pause I touch the ebony strands. My eyes flutter closed at the memories of the countless hours I spent playing with those lovely tresses.

_One year._

I think about the time we shared. A year filled with joy and sorrow, with laughter and tears. A year of endless nights spent counting the stars, of lying in your arms beneath the light of a silvery moon, caught up in a dance as old as time itself.

My fingertips curl into your hair, and ever-so-slowly, I bend down, pressing my lips to yours in a final, lingering kiss.

_Goodbye._


	18. The Journey

Author's Note: Wow. What an amazing, incredible journey this has been. It's hard for me to believe that this tale has finally come to a close, and yet, I am pleased with the final results. This whole project has taken me near a year from start to finish, with a lot of little bumps in the road along the way, a lot of late nights of tapping furiously on whatever I could find to get the words out.

There will be a few special notes at the end of this epilogue, for those of you who are interested in some of my future projects, and perhaps have not made it to my profile page to see all that's in store. Rest assured, the bard is far from finished talking (Shianni too, for that matter). And little one-shots and shorts will continue to be posted in my companion piece "The Lost Scrolls," for those of you who cannot get enough of this universe.

A few special dedications for this chapter: To Elissa - who was with me at the beginning; To Snafu - your amazing story and spectacular characters inspired me to finish this awesome tale. And to Leo - who has kept me young and on my toes during this final push.

And last but not least, to my wonderful readers. I hope that you have found joy in whatever words I have written. This final chapter is for you.

* * *

**Epilogue: The Journey**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Listen, my friends, to the ballad I sing  
****For one's birth matters not, whether pauper or king.  
****In the unlikeliest places, a hero is born  
****To be loved by the masses or treated with scorn.  
****To be strong of conviction, in face of great strife  
****And if duty demands it, even sacrifice life.**

**I knew such a hero, a woman and friend,  
****Companion, lover, and defender to the end.  
****This is her tale, the true story untold.  
****For I was there as it did unfold.**

**I sing to you of the great Kallian  
****The Warden, the Elf, and the Hero of Ferelden.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Silence.

Leliana curled her fingers around the parchment, reaching for a small mug of water with her free hand. Maker, her throat was so dry; it had been a long time – too long, almost – since since she had spoken so many words in one sitting. She took a hesitant sip, the liquid a soothing salve to her parched throat, and glanced cautiously around the room. Her companions were staring at her in awe, nary a dry eye to be seen in the room.

"That was..." Wynne hesitated. "That was very beautiful, Leliana." Her voice was filled with a soft wonder, though she eyed the bard cautiously, clearly concerned. Leliana smiled briefly and nodded her gratitude. She felt a slight pang of guilt at what was to come, but this could not be avoided, not if her plan was to succeed. The mage studied her for a long moment, searching for something that could not be quite verbalized. Seemingly satisfied, she settled back in her chair, convinced that perhaps the young bard was turning a corner.

Alistair stared pensively at the large oak table, which had been filled to near overflowing with an assortment of Ferelden delicacies. Zevran gave the former Templar a small nudge, and it seemed to snap the reluctant king out of his brooding. His eyes met Leliana's, not quite able to hide the traces of sadness ever-present in those blue orbs. "I... thank you, Leliana. That was a fitting tribute."

"I believe our Warden would have enjoyed the story, though she might have been a tad more enamored with the one telling it, no?" Zevran smiled, his mischievous eyes twinkling at the bard's blush.

Leliana shook her head, though she could not suppress the grin at Zevran's familiar banter. Some things, it seemed, would never change. The bard approached the empty chair at the head of the table, grabbing the stem of a crystal goblet. She lifted the wine glass, studying each of her companions for a brief moment, ingraining the image into her mind.

"I would like to propose a toast," she said, lifting her glass cautiously. "To Kallian."

"To Kallian." The words come easily, and one by one, each person picked up their glass, a round of pleasant chimes echoing across the room, toasting the woman who had touched each of their lives in such a wonderful way.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

It was a simple sleeping draught, prepared with ingredients taken from the marketplace. Odorless, colorless, completely indiscernible for the unsuspecting palate. No bard in Orlais would have fallen for such a simple trick, but these were my friends, and I don't think they expected such duplicity from one they knew so well. After all, I had been mourning Kallian's passing for many months now. How could I have constructed such an elaborate plan to mask my departure?

Wynne fell first, as I had planned, her eyes meeting mine with confusion and shock before the draught took hold. Hers was laced with a bit of magebane, not enough to hurt her, but just enough to keep her from fighting its effects.

Zevran was next to fall, though he managed an amused _"well played"_ before he succumbed to the draught's effects, with Alistair tumbling to the floor in confusion afterwards. I had persuaded him to dismiss the servants earlier, insisting I wanted this to be a private moment between friends. I make my way around the room, placing a pillow under each of their heads. I do not want them to be uncomfortable – I merely do not wish them to stop me from leaving.

I slip easily from the private dining room and to my chambers. My friends would be discovered in the morning, and apart from a mild headache would be little the worse for wear. I had prepared a small knapsack earlier, filling it with supplies from the castle larder and from the infirmary. It had been difficult sneaking around to get the provisions, but I_ am_ a bard, am I not?

I leave quickly, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the regular patrols as I make my way to the stables. Fynn is waiting for me there, and I can't bring myself to leave him. I don't think he would listen to me, anyways. I take a horse to just outside the city gates. The paths leading from Denerim are well traveled, and it is easy to make one's tracks disappear along the most common routes. I head south, because I know they will expect me to go west, and I ride hard throughout the night. Fynn manages to keep pace – he is a trained Mabari, after all. Perhaps he is just trying to protect me. Perhaps he misses you as much as I do.

On the second day, I divert east, losing myself in the Brecilian forest. The forest path is vast and confusing, and losing any further pursuit in the woods will be easy. Game is also plentiful and I now have enough knowledge of the Dalish to steer clear of their territories. Fynn and I travel south and then west, loping easily along the Brecilian outskirts. We steer clear of the cities at night and camp beneath the stars. For the most part we maintain a companionable silence.

I do not know if he understands where this journey will end. But somehow I believe he would come with me anyways, regardless of where this path leads.

We travel though the Korcari Wilds, skirting south of Ostagar. The seasons pass and the weather grows cold. At night, Fynn and I huddle for warmth. He keeps watch while I sleep. Sometimes I can't sleep, and he remains by my side for comfort, sitting with me for hours as I stare into the fire.

It's almost like you are with me.

It is several months before we arrive at the foothills of the Frostback mountains, and as I look upward at the snow-capped peaks my heart lightens. There are many hidden entrances to the Deep Roads scattered across these mountains. Surely it will not take that long to find one.

I rest here, my fingers trailing down to a small vial that hangs from my waist. The poison is from Zevran's private stocks. It's stolen, of course, and it will work quickly.

The Darkspawn will not take me; but perhaps, just maybe, I will be granted the death you should have had with your Calling.

I'll be waiting for you.

A promise from the heart, spoken in the face of certain death. And once more your eyes meet my own, filled with such love. You hold out your hand, smiling broadly as I lace my fingers with yours.

You will not have to wait much longer.

* * *

**_The End_**

* * *

Thanks again for traveling with me on this wonderful journey. While I've never really been that big of a glutton for reviews, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy all of the feedback, good and bad, that I've received along the way.

With this story finished my attention will turn to several other projects that I have in the pipeline. The first would of course be whatever shorts and one-shots happen to come to mind for _The Lost Scrolls_. I have at least two additional ideas beyond that, and if you want more details regarding those, you'll have to wait in line ;). The first of a special two-part series for that story should be posted within a week or so, with the second part to be posted after I return from my wonderful vacation.

I also have two longer pieces in the pipeline, including a story for Mass Effect 2, another brilliant Bioware game featuring some absolutely unforgettable characters and another absolutely amazing love story.

And last but not least, a sequel (if you can believe it), to this wonderful tale, which will take us across the lands of Thedas in pursuit of an epic quest (and if you can guess what that quest is, you may even get cookies, assuming Sten does not eat them first).


End file.
